Shades of Grey
by Gemini8
Summary: Set in tenth century England, what if the Founders were not what we perceive them as today? The world has been split into two extremes of black and white. This is the story of the shades of grey in-between. (PG-13 to R-ish.) CHAPTER FOUR NOW UPLOADED.
1. Soot

Title: Shades of Grey (Chapter One: Soot)

Author Name: Gemini

Author Email: gemini@schnoogle.com or stardust_gc@hotmail.com

House: Schnoogle

Category: A bit of everything…

Keywords: Founders, Godric, Helga, Rowena, Salazar

Spoilers: Being familiar with all four HP books would be a good idea.

Rating: PG-13 to R

Summary: The birth of the first Founder has changed the world.  Also making appearances are Muggles, hats, and wizarding feasts.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: A question was posted on the Founders board in Fiction Alley Park, and I immediately snatched it up the idea.  In this story, you'll see what would happen if the Founders Four weren't really what their house stood for.  What if Godric was a coward? Helga lazy? Rowena stupid? And Salazar honest?  Starting off as 'opposites', they'll move toward what wizards and witches think they were like.  After that… you'll just have to read and find out. J Thanks Seereth, for this amazing idea.

A freedom I've taken: The spell names that we all know and love have been altered.  I'm assuming that spells weren't the pronounced the exact same way one thousand years ago, so I've made some modifications.  I thought it would make sense that the pronunciations of spell names evolved over time, just as languages do.

One more thing: I'm a senior high school student.  I don't know much about the tenth century.  If you spot an inaccuracy, please let me know. I've got an amazing beta who's studied it, but she's just one person.  Also, I've made their dialogue close to modern day English, for us to understand better. ;)

And here we begin…

**Chapter One: Soot**

By Gemini

_The Eagle_

_He clasps the crag with crooked hands;_

_Close to the sun in lonely lands,_

_Ring'd with the azure world, he stands._

_The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;_

_He watches from his mountain walls,_

_And like a thunderbolt he falls._

_- Alfred, Lord Tennyson_

~ * ~

_Summer 952 A.D._

The sudden yellow glow of sunlight pierced the dark sky, making its way over the lush green glen.  On that night, the first birth of four had occurred, the births of witches and wizards who would be remembered forever.  And the birth had ended in misfortune.

All the known spells were not strong enough to save the mother, let alone the frantic whispers and prayers of the midwife and father.  She was only twenty years of age - a strange age to bear a first born for non-wizards, but an appropriate age in the magical community.  

The night had been long and arduous for her husband.  He had clutched his wife's weak white hands, paced the small room consistently, and had written a letter to his newborn baby.  But our tale does not begin with him, nor with his wife.

It begins with the break of a new day, and the wail of the baby.  The newborn babe had been placed into a woven bassinet a few hours after its arrival into the world.  Then, after a short journey seaward, it was placed before the door of a simple shanty.  The letter had been sealed and tucked into the swaddling clothes, and a hastily written note was placed in plain sight for the tenants of the home.

He had caressed a soft cheek gently before galloping away into the black night.  That had been four hours ago, and now the baby was hungry.

The cries rivaled even the crow of the rooster.

Alan stretched his arms wide over his head, and turned to look at his wife.  "What in bloody hell is that awful noise?"  

With her eyes still closed, she murmured, "I am surprised you do not recognize it.  We have had three already."  Their three children were currently snuggled deep into the rough cloth blanket.  The racket was not coming from any of them.  Besides, they had for the most part outgrown the tendency to scream and cry early in the morning.

Alan's feet thudded heavily on the dirty floor as he heaved himself out of the bed.  He trudged slowly across the little room, and opened the creaking door.  Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he looked down and received one of the biggest surprises of his life.  

Working on the lands, hearing the incorrigible stories, listening to the rough language, it took a lot to faze Alan.  But babies did not just show up in front of his home everyday.  Or any day, actually.

"Emily," he called, still staring.  "Come look."  He heard a rustling as his wife pulled herself out of the bed.  As she walked over, he bent down to pick up the two folded letters.  Frowning at both of them, the sealed letter and the short scribble, he said, "Emily, what in God's name does this say?"

Emily glanced at the cursive script, then at Alan with a raised eyebrow.  "We can ask Father Joseph to read it for us."  She cast her eyes toward the still wailing baby and sighed.

Without a word, she gathered the baby into her arms and carried it back into the small hovel.

960 A.D. (Eight Years Later…)

"Rowena!"  Cecily's shrill voice rang out across the small glen.  Cecily was older than Rowena by three years, and flaunted it at every opportunity.  Sometimes she would smugly say, "Mama asked me to buy food at the markets today," or sighing, "A handsome boy was staring at me yesterday in the village."  Rowena much preferred her two older brothers, Robert and Geoffrey, to talk to, but they had taken to working on the lands with their father, Alan.

Rowena was neither old enough to attend the markets alone or interested enough in boys to really care about what her sister was saying.  While Cecily rambled on, she often half-listened and half-daydreamed.  Staring up at the sky, imagining she was flying, free from Cecily's prattle, seemed a lot better than hearing the older girl's gossip.  

"Rowena, come_ here!"  Sighing, Rowena picked herself up from the hard earth and dejectedly trudged to her older sister.  Cecily stood at the top of the hill surveying the scene on the other side.  Her dark brown hair blew messily around her sharp face.  Rowena's own white-blond hair contrasted clearly with Cecily's.  Strangers often remarked on how different the two girls looked, as if they weren't even sisters.  Their mother Emily often just gave a tight-lipped smile and herded the girls along their way._

The older girl half turned as Rowena steadily ascended the grassy slope.  Together they stood, cloaks billowing from the cold wind.  The cloudiness of the sky gave their faces a pale tint.  On the hilltop, Rowena could see the blue ocean, waves crashing in the distance.  Cecily bent closer to Rowena and began to whisper.

"See that man with the blue cloak?  He's a _wizard," she said knowingly.  The man in question was currently trying to pass the hill, but was detained by a group of boys.  They were pitching rocks at him._

"How do you know?" Rowena asked, slightly in awe.  She had heard of wizards from her parents, mostly bad things.  To think… a wizard in her village?  It was unheard of.  She felt a shiver of fear, and hoped that the boys would drive him away.

She stared as the wizard walked faster, away from the boys.  They hurled small stones, often missing their target, but sometimes nailing the man who was so pointedly ignoring them.

"_Bastard!"_

"_Wizard!"_

"_Monster!"_

Rowena winced and Cecily cheered as a stone hit the wizard's head, causing it to snap forward in pain.  He crumbled to the ground.

Like vultures to corpses, the boys descended on the helpless wizard.  More young children began to arrive.  Cecily seized Rowena's hand and excitedly said, "Come!  We can join them."

She ran down the green hillside with Rowena in tow.  The cold wind blew through their streaming hair as they dashed down the slope.  Weaving through the chaotic children, they came to a halt at the unconscious and bleeding man.  

Rowena saw that he was not at all unlike her.  She did a quick check.  Two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth…  He seemed like a person.  His hair was of a similar colour to Rowena's, but darker.  However, some of it was matted with blood, and some of it had trickled to his face.  There was a cut on his lip.

Cecily delivered a vicious kick to the wizard's abdomen as the boys paused in admiration.  Rowena stood watching, her brow furrowed.  She didn't want to actually inflict pain on him, so she simply stared.  

Then somehow, as if by some sort of fate, she looked up and caught the eye of a boy.  He was around Cecily's age, perhaps a bit older.  His hair was mussed, dark and long, and his hazel eyes accentuated the spray of freckles across his face.  His clothing was dark, almost black.  They locked gazes, silently.  As the wizard was being beaten and pounded, the two kindred became lost in one another. 

"_Children!"  Emily stood at the top of the hill, with a furious motherly look on her face.  "Get back!  Now!"_

"You're in trouble now," sneered one of the boys to Cecily.  She turned her nose up at him and pulled Rowena with her toward Emily.  Rowena stole one last glance at the boy who had so captured her attention, but he had already turned away.

They reached the top of the hill; Emily seemed to be even more intimidating up close.  Cecily and Rowena stopped a few steps short, with looks of shame on their faces.  Rowena's was genuine; Cecily's was not.

"What have you been doing?"  Emily's voice was cold, but not fully devoid of motherly intentions.  

"Mama, please," pleaded Cecily.  "We were only having some fun."

"Fun?  Do you call that _fun?  Hurting an innocent man like that…" Emily grabbed both Cecily and Rowena by the arms and pulled them like a mother hen herding her chicks.  "Never, in all my life…" She began to lead them back to the small shanty that was their home.  Rowena cast one last look of longing over her shoulder, but the boy had bent down to help the wizard.  Strange._

During the walk home, Emily admonished the two girls, thought not as much as they expected.  Emily seemed a bit disturbed at the wizard's presence.  "Wasting time like that… Cecily, go back into the garden and finish the weeding.  Rowena, come with me."

Cecily sullenly walked out the home again, slamming the wooden door behind her.  Emily pulled out a basket full of rough, folded cloth and beckoned to Rowena to sit beside her.  "We must continue with this, or you will never learn how to do it."

At a brisk pace, Emily showed Rowena the basics of sewing, hemming, darning…  However, Rowena couldn't push the thoughts of the boy out of her mind.

970 A.D. (10 Years Later…) 

"Oh, excuse me, I am _so sorry," said Rowena hastily.  Her basket had fallen to the ground, food and cloth spilling everywhere._

"It was my fault," apologized the young man.  He was too old to be considered a boy, but his smooth face gave him the impression of youthfulness.  He bent down to join Rowena as she picked up her belongings and purchases, which had mingled with those that had fallen out of the man's pockets.  The busy crowd wove around them.

"Here you are," said the man, handing her a loaf of bread.  She accepted it, and picked up a short, polished wooden stick.  

"Is this yours?"  His face paled slightly, but not enough to attract Rowena's attention.  He swiftly took it from her outstretched hand, glad she was too distracted to think much of it.

"Ah, thank you.  I think this belongs to you as well.  Do you think we have everything?"  

"Yes, thank you."  They straightened up, giving Rowena a better look at the man she had collided with.  He wore black clothes and was tall, with a messy mop of dark hair.  She looked into his hazel eyes, then awkwardly looked away.  "Thank you," she repeated again.  

"I was in your way; it was the least I could do," he insisted.  A short pause passed before the young man spoke again.  "You look... very familiar.  Have I seen you around here before?"

"Oh, not likely," Rowena answered.  "Usually my sister is the one who comes, but she recently went to live with her new husband and her duty was passed onto me."  She gestured to the bustling crowds of people in the market around her.  "Busy day, is it not?"

"I would not know," he replied.  "I do not come here often, actually."  He wanted to add that he would be coming more often now that he met her, but decided against it.  "My name is William.  I will keep an eye out for you next time I come."  Yes, he would definitely have to come to these non-magical markets more often.

She smiled.  "Until next time, then."

Rowena had an extra lift in her step as she headed home.

*     *     *

"Rowena!"  Emily was exasperated.  "Where have you been?"

"I am sorry, Mother," Rowena replied, trying her best to make her voice seem shameful.  "It will never happen again."

"Good."  Emily's voice was crisp, though not unkind.  "Now, come join me.  I need to have a talk with you."

Rowena placed her basket of goods by the door, and trod over to where her mother was sitting.  Gathering her skirts together, she propped herself against the wooden beam and looked expectantly at Emily.  

Emily placed her sewing aside and turned to Rowena, looking grave.  "Now Rowena, you know your father and I love you very much."  Rowena nodded.  "Well, we have to tell you something.  And your father, being the man that he is, decided to give me the opportunity to tell you."  Emily faltered, and trailed off.

"Mother?" Rowena bent forward, concerned.  "What's wrong?"

Emily held up a hand and took a moment to gather herself together.  Then, she reached into her apron and pulled out a folded, crumpled parchment paper.  Holding it out, she handed it to Rowena, saying, "This is for you."

Rowena hesitantly took it from Emily's outstretched hand.  She looked down at the front, and saw a jumble of letters… a word.  "Mother… You know I cannot read this."

"Neither can I, my dear.  I had Father Joseph read it eighteen years ago but I cannot remember for the life of me how the letter goes.  You may want to visit him again and ask him to read it for you."  She hesitated.  "It… It is not my place to tell you."

"Mother, please.  Tell me."

A long silence passed before Emily spoke again.  Her voice shook with suppressed emotion as she recalled that altering night.

"Eighteen years ago," she began, "Alan and I woke up one morning to hear a baby crying in front of our door.  It was you."  She lifted her head and looked straight into Rowena's blue eyes.  "We had no idea where you had come from, or why you were sent to us, but we found two letters.  The first was a short note to us.  The second was for you.  This one was for you."  She took a deep breath and continued on.

"Of course we did not know what it said.  I suggested to your father that we take it to Father Joseph, so we did."  Rowena began to take deep breaths.  This was not true… This was not true…

"Father Joseph read us the shorter one first, the one that was unsealed.  It said…" Tears began to form in Emily's eyes.  "It asked us to take care of you, and that one day, your true father would be back for you.  Your mother died giving birth, and your father could not bear the responsibility then.  There was too much going on in the world."

"I… I am not your daughter?" Rowena croaked.  

Barreling on before she would broke down completely, Emily said, "You _are_ our daughter.  But by blood, no.  No, you are not.  And… And you are also not…"

"Mother, what is it?"  Rowena bent forward, and placed a hand over Emily's.  "Tell me," she begged.

"You are a witch," Emily blurted out quickly.  "The note for us… it told us…"

Rowena recoiled, and stared with empty eyes.  This was not true.  In shock, without a word, she stood and turned away.  Clutching the letter, she quickly walked out of the small home.  Breaking into a run, she raced as fast as she could to the small chapel over the hills.  

This was not true.  She was _not_ a witch.  She was not a monster.  Emily lied.

Unnoticed by Rowena, an eagle soared high overhead into the clouds, unseen.

The sun was beginning to set.  An array of oranges and yellows leapt into the sky, and the rays of light danced among the clouds.  When Rowena had finally reached the small run-down chapel, the sun was on the horizon, a glowing orb.  The chapel loomed tall over her though not threatening, yet she was hesitant about entering.  She stared at the giant stone cross on the rooftop.  

Rowena pushed the wooden doors open gently.  They were silent, and so was the empty chapel.  Her feet made a slight padding sound as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.  The letter was still clasped in her hand.  

"Hello?" She called out hesitantly.  "Father Joseph?"  The echoes bounced off the walls before becoming silent.  Then…

"Rowena!  How lovely to see you again, my dear!"  A short, pleasantly plump man with a fringe around his partly bald head came out from behind the front of the chapel.  Normally, Rowena couldn't help but smile at the beaming priest, but this time, her face was empty.

"It is good to see you again, Father Joseph."

"Yes, yes, very nice to see you too.  Now, what can I do for you?"  He clasped his hands together and looked at Rowena expectantly.

Silently, Rowena held out her letter.  "Have you seen this before?"

Father Joseph's face lost a bit of his jollity as he gazed at the letter.  Rowena waited breathlessly for him to say something.  

Suddenly, he turned and began walking in the direction he had come.  Rowena was stunned.  Where was he going?  Wasn't he going to answer her?

Halfway down the aisle, he turned around again.  "Quickly, girl, move along!"

  
Relieved, Rowena followed his quick, urgent pace.  He led her to a small room she had never seen before behind the front of the chapel.  A few doors were placed around the small stone room, and he opened one, gesturing for her to quickly go inside.  She stepped in, partly confused, partly excited.  Would he tell her what was happening?

The new room appeared to be a study at first.  There was a table and a few chairs scattered around.  Father Joseph stepped in and closed the door.  Rowena stood awkwardly in the middle of the room until he sat down in a chair by the table and gestured for her to take the seat by him.

"Now, tell me, where did you get this?"  

"My mother gave it to me just now," said Rowena softly.  "I… I cannot read it, of course, and she suggested you read it to me."

Father Joseph sighed.  "Well, I had read it eighteen - has it been eighteen already? -  years ago.  I remember it quite vividly."  He took the letter from Rowena and opened it.  In the middle of unfolding it, he paused.  

"Have you seen its seal yet?"  Rowena shook her head.

He returned the letter, backside facing up, so she could see the reddish seal that had been broken so many years ago.

It was barely decipherable.  Some of the ridges had rubbed smooth, and small chips here and there had been broken off.   If she squinted hard enough, Rowena thought she could make out the small form of a bird in the center of the crest.

She handed it back silently, and Father Joseph opened it again.  Rowena saw a jumble of letters on the page, and wished she could understand what they said.

 "Rowena," Father Joseph said, hesitantly, "this is very… This will change your life.  Are you sure you want to know what this letter says?"

Rowena knitted her eyebrows together.  "What do you mean?  Father, I do not know who this letter is from.  I do not know what it tells me.  I do not know anything about it, only that it is for me.  Please, read it to me."  She needed to know.  She needed to make sure it was not true.

Father Joseph regarded her with sharp eyes.  He was unused to such a stance from the girl.  He cast his eyes upward and hoped she would be forgiven this once.  It was _her_ fault she had evil magic in her soul.

"Have it your way then, Rowena.  But remember, I did warn you.

_My dearest Rowena,_ (it began)

I am sorry.  I am sorry for what I will do, and what you will have to experience later.  I only wish it had turned out differently.  

_You should be a young woman by the time you read these words.  I requested you receive this letter when you are old enough to understand.  I do not know much about the non-magical community, but I do know that it should keep you safe from the harm you may experience as a witch.  And it is true.  You _are_ a witch.  You are my daughter._

_Your mother's name was Anne, and she was the most beautiful woman I had ever met.  She is gone now, but I will not let that deter me from what I must do.  You are the most beautiful baby in the world, and I am heartbroken that I must let you go.  You are the only reminder I have of Anne, and my blood, my life, my love._

_I want to keep you, but I cannot.  There is too much prejudice and hatred of wizards and witches in the world right now.  I cannot help the movement and protect you at the same time.  I cannot do that without corrupting you._

_I will be back one day.  I will come and take you with me, and I will teach you about magic.  _

_Your father,_

Sir Hugh of the Ravenclaw 

That is all," finished Father Joseph.

Rowena sat as still as stone.  This was not true.

"Rowena…" Father Joseph peered closely at her face.  "Rowena, you are still one of us, you do realize that?  This… This "Sir Hugh of the Ravenclaws"… He is gone.  Look at you, you cannot do magic, can you?  You are not a witch."  He prayed she would see it his way.  He would be upset if she was punished later because of something she could not fix.

Rowena looked at Father Joseph.  She felt torn.  Trembling, she took the letter back, and refolded it with care.  She pressed her lips together, silent, emotionless.

She managed to say a quick "Thank you" before rising from the chair and swiftly leaving the room.  Father Joseph did not follow her.

A jumble of thoughts ran through her mind as she raced out of the chapel.  This was not true.  She was not a witch.

Rowena ran into the wind, her flaxen hair streaming behind her.  She ran without a destination, without a care.  It was dusk now, and the night sky settled down like a blanket upon the land.

She ran until she could run no longer, and collapsed by an oak tree.  Panting heavily, she leaned her head against its mossy trunk, looking to the darkening sky.  She remembered the day she and Cecily had climbed up this very hill, and watched a wizard in blue robes take a beating from a group of boys.  This must be what the so-called Sir Hugh had been talking about.  Prejudice against the magical.  But the wizard hadn't seemed like a monster then.  In fact, she had felt sorry for him.

Was this true?  Was she a witch?  The letter was most definitely not fake.  The script was too beautiful, too _real_.  

She sat under the tree until the sky turned black and starry.  Her thoughts were too confusing.  She would have to sort this out later, when she could think properly.  Her heart was still beating fast.

Rowena gathered herself together and, still clutching the letter, stood up slowly.  The tiny village could be seen far away over the hills, firelight twinkling in the distance.  The reds and yellows flickered in the clear night, mesmerizing.

If she was a witch, then why didn't she ever do magic?  Rumor was that wizards could kill people with the murmur of a few words, or stare at a candle and it would light itself.  Rowena stared at a few blades of grass to see if she could make them catch fire.  They moved, but she attributed it to the wind.

Sighing, she headed home.

_971 A.D. (One Year Later… Interlude)_

"Push!"

Rowena let out a strangled cry.  "It hurts!" She gasped out.

Emily frowned.  "Rowena, push _harder_."

"I am _trying_!"

Hours of pain, and the moment of truth had arrived.  The air stilled, and a cry was heard.  Emily wiped the blood off the baby and handed it to Rowena's outstretched arms.  "'Tis a baby boy," she said, smiling.  Emily wiped her hands and went to call William into the room.

He walked in a bit nervously, but smiled when he saw his wife.  He settled back on the bed with her, and Rowena leaned into him, gazing at her newborn son.  They had already decided on a name – Thomas for a boy, and Alice for a girl.  Traditional names were something that they had both been adamant about.

Rowena and William had been married for only a little while before she became pregnant.  Emily and Alan had begun to complain about Rowena's single status, and nagged at her to marry someone.  She was getting too old.  Cecily had married a long time ago, and Robert and Geoffrey both took young wives years ago.

Finally, one day, Rowena arrived home from the markets with a man who she introduced as William.  Introductions were made, questions were asked and before she knew it, she and William had been married by Father Joseph.  Rowena managed to keep her secret, and William managed to keep his, ironically.

And now they had a child - a child of pure blood.

"Rowena." William's voice was gentle.  "You need rest."

"I am fine," she said impatiently.  "Let me stay with my new son."  William laughed.

"For a little while."

"Thank you."

Rowena's face was pale, but she shone with the brilliance of a new mother.  William's face was proud.  Emily couldn't help grinning at them.  

"Just wait until Alan and the others hear about this.  Aren't you lucky I came to visit for today?  I just had a feeling."  Emily shook her head.  "Another grandchild for me to spoil."

*     *     *

 "William, how did you do that?" asked Rowena sleepily.  She had only been asleep for a little while, and their home had been cleaned, tidied and straightened.  And Thomas was happily napping.

He smiled.  "Magic."

She laughed softly, sounding a bit hollow.  "No, you are just talented husband."  She cast a glance around the room.  "How is Thomas doing?"  

"Sleeping soundly," replied William.  "He is an angel."

"Good," murmured Rowena.  She let out a puff of air and turned on her side.  Her head was heavy and she felt as if she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer.  Just as she was in the state between dreams and reality, she thought she saw William holding a wooden stick.

_976 A.D. (Five Years Later…)_

"Rowena?"  William staggered in, hunched from the weight of the baskets on his shoulders.  He seemed distracted, somehow.

Swiftly, Rowena hid the project she was working on and pulled out a pair of trousers.  "I am almost finished; give me some more time."

William nodded and walked out of the room again, almost spilling the entire basket as he hit the low doorframe.  

She waited for a bit until she was sure he would not return.  Pulling out her other project, she stared at it forlornly.

Rowena was unsure why she made it.  The last thing she needed right now was evidence of her impurity.  But… she had felt the need.  Perhaps it was for affirmation?  That such a ridiculous garment would never fit her, because she wasn't a witch.  She was a non-magical woman, living with a non-magical husband, and bore a non-magical son.

Tentatively, she put the hat slowly on to her head, afraid something would happen.  It was a bit too big, and fell over her eyes.  Darkness.  Quickly, she yanked it off and let it drop into the basket.  Rowena stared at it until she felt sure she was safe.  She sighed, deciding to forget about it for now.

"Thomas!" Rowena called.  Five-year-old Thomas ran into the room quickly.  He grew fast, and was curious about everything and anything in the world around him.  His hair was a mixture of Rowena and William's – a light sandy blonde.  

"Thomas, do you think you might like to accompany me to the market?" Rowena asked gravely.  She tried to put on a serious look as Thomas's face lit up.

"Mama, please, let me come!" He pleaded.  His blue eyes opened wide and he tugged at her arm.

She laughed.  "Alright, come with me," she said.  In one hand, she took Thomas's own, and in the other, she grabbed her basket which still carried the wizard hat.

On her way out of the small home, she called out, "William, we will be at the market for a little while."

A muffled "Goodbye!" sounded out through one of the rooms.

Together, Rowena and Thomas made their way across the small village to the market.  It was a sunny day though not boiling for which Rowena was relieved because the crowds pushed in around her and Thomas tightly.  They were jostled and bumped; Rowena just about dropped her basket a few times.  She held Thomas's hand protectively.  

Thomas seemed a bit frightened and excited at the same time about the people around him.  "Mama, look," he said, pointing to an old man propped up against a stall.  He was obviously too old to be doing any work.  He looked up sullenly and stared with defiantly at Rowena and Thomas.  

Rowena stretched out her arm and pushed Thomas's pointing hand down.  "Come with me, Thomas."  She led him into the midst of the crowd and held him close while she chose a few fruits from the vendor and gave him some clothing in return.

Thomas began to turn irritable after awhile, due to a rather uninteresting crowd of old people.  

"Mama, I want to go home."

"Not now, Thomas… – I am so sorry about that, I… – Thomas! – I need just a little of that wheat over there… – Thomas! – I'm sorry…" Rowena frowned down at the little boy tugging at her skirt.  

"Here you are, ma'am," said the vendor, handing over her requested goods.  He grinned at Thomas.  "Feisty little fellow, aren't you, little boy?"

Thomas half stared, half glared at the vendor.  He detested being called a 'little boy.'

"Come along, now," said Rowena hurriedly.  She dragged him away and toward the path home.  

"What have I told you about talking to me when I am speaking with others?"  She hated to berate her son, but had to do so, otherwise, he would never learn.

"I am sorry, Mama," he said, looking down, watching his feet.  

She sighed loudly, and sneaked a glance at Thomas.  "Remember for the next time, then."  He nodded, glad she wouldn't be saying anything further.

They walked in silence for a short while, taking in the sights and sounds around them, when Thomas pointed ahead and shouted, "Mama, look!"  They had rounded the corner, and the devastating scene lay spread out before them.

Rowena stopped in her tracks.  She quickly held out an arm and pulled Thomas, who was about to run further, back.  "Mama, why is there fire?"

She did not answer.  Her blue eyes reflected the red flames shooting up from her home, and the homes of her friends.  William was in there.  She debated what to do with Thomas, and decided to leave him outside the village.  She would go in herself.  The flames were not too powerful yet; she would be able to enter.

Kneeling down, Rowena turned Thomas around so he faced her and not the fire.  His eyes were wide, and scared.  "Thomas, take this," she said, handing him the basket, "and stay here.  Do not go away with anyone you do not know.  Promise?"  He nodded, and solemnly took the basket.  She was thankful that, for such a young boy, he could be very mature at times.

Rowena kissed her son on the forehead and held him tight, then ran off toward the flames.  She gathered her skirts and lifted them higher so she could run easily.  

William.  William was still at home.  He was inside, packing bags of Rowena's clothing items to sell.  She ran faster.

There were people running out of the village, and they pushed past her as she struggled to get in.  

"Are you crazy, woman? Get back!" A man, older than her, tried to keep her from running in, but she broke free and ran harder.  

  
"William?" She called.  She quickly scanned the crowd running in the opposite direction, but didn't see anyone.  "William?"  Her voice became frantic and hoarse.

She finally reached the village, where the flames crackled and spit at her.  She stopped in a clear, deserted area where she could see her home.  It was burning, flames roaring high, devouring what was once her haven.  Her breathing became heavy, and she began to cough from the thick smoke invading her body.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a movement.  Behind the red and orange flames, she could see a few people moving… Three of them.  "Hello?" She called.  

Three heads snapped up and fixed themselves on her.  

Instantly, they ran towards her, shouting.  Rowena backed up hesitantly.  They did not look too friendly.  "Excuse me," she tried calling out.  "Do you know where…" They were coming at her faster.  Deciding that she didn't want to take any risks, she started to turn and run, but they were too fast.  They had caught up quickly and descended on her.  

Rowena screamed and yelled for help, but none came.  The village had been deserted.  She received a closer look at her three captors as they grabbed her.  Two men and one woman in robes...    As they bound her hands behind her back and gagged her, she felt dread washing over her body.  Wizards.  

The three wizards dragged her roughly in the opposite direction of where she had left Thomas.  It was difficult to walk with three people clinging to her, but she managed to stay upright.  The heat from the fires was making her sweat, and she found it hard to breath from the gag and smoke.

It had been silent amidst the cracking of flames, but unexpectedly, they began to talk.

"Where should we take this one?" Asked one of the two men, the taller one.

"With the others, of course," said the woman.  "In there."  She pointed to a cart that was waiting in the distance, away from the village.

The shorter man remarked, "Think she'll fit?"  

"The cart is big enough.  It will hold them all."

Slowly, they made their way to the farm cart.  A wizard was sitting in the front, with a hold on the reins of the horses.  Attached behind them was a small cage.  Villagers were sitting inside, some of which she recognized, crammed in until there was almost no room left.

They reached the cage, and the tall male wizard pulled out a wooden stick.

"_Alohamore_," he said, pointing the stick at the lock.  It unlocked.  Rowena stared.  Was that magic?  What did he say?  

They shoved her in harshly, and relocked it, without magic.  Her three captors got in beside the driver, and they began to move.  Rowena stared out the back of the cage toward the burning village.  She knew Thomas was still there, on the other side, waiting.

High above, an eagle soared, lit by the brilliance of the setting sun.

*     *     *

"Get out," said the witch rudely.  The prisoners piled out of the cart, jostling each other as they fell out.  Rowena's bindings had begun to cut into her wrist, and her gag was pulling at her mouth.  

The trip had seemed long, but in fact was only a short little while.  However, dusk had fallen by the time they reached their destination.  They had been moving along the bumpy road, when suddenly the air shimmered around them and a castle-like estate loomed up out of nowhere.  It seemed to just resonate darkness around it, and the air grew cold as they approached.

A few nasty-looking wizards were standing outside at one of the lower entrances.  The driver of the cart took them inside, and after a few twists and turns in dark stone corridors, they had arrived in the damp dungeon.  

Torches were lined up along the wall, and a few wizards held some wooden sticks with sparkling lights on the end.  Rowena was desperate to find out what these sticks were, and how they could perform all these tricks.  

Rowena was at a loss.  She needed an idea, a plan, but she couldn't think of one.  She knew she was under captivity of wizards, but that was all.  It was too dangerous to try and run away, and she wouldn't be able to run quick enough if her arms were bound.

And then it hit her, like a bright candle in the dark.  Her letter.  

Rowena had taken to carrying the letter everywhere with her in her dress.  It was too risky to leave at home, in case someone found it.  And she didn't have the heart to burn or destroy it.  Deep down, she felt a connection with this Sir Hugh of the Ravenclaw.

She was pushed toward some chains and shackles on the dungeon walls where about forty or fifty other prisoners were already confined.  

Rowena tried to tell the tall wizard that she was a witch, a descendant of Sir Hugh, but all that came out was, "Mmph!"

"Shaddup, girl," he said crudely.  The other wizards who had joined them laughed at her.  She tried in earnest to be heard.  

"Mma-wch," she tried, incoherently.  "Waach!"

The wizard let out a small growl, and roughly yanked the gag down to her neck.  "What is it?  And if you say anything I don't like…"

"I am a witch," she panted.  The other wizards stared.  And laughed.

"Right," said the tall one, grinning.  "A regular bitch you are."

"No, please," she pleaded.  "I am a witch.  I am of the Ravenclaw."  The wizards froze.  

The tall one leaned in close to her ragged face.  She could feel his breath on her.  "What did you say?"

"I lived with my family for eighteen years as a non-magical person.  I was… abandoned.  My… father, his name is Sir Hugh.  Please, I am a witch," she implored.  The words felt dirty, but they were capturing the wizards' attention.  

The tall wizard's face had become pale, and he looked at his friends in dejection.  The other, shorter, one, sneered, "Prove it."

Relieved, Rowena cast a quick thank you in her mind that she kept the letter.  "Reach into my pocket there… No, that other one.  Yes, read it."

The wizards crowded around the dirty parchment, and read the letter.  Their eyes moved as they skimmed across the words, and Rowena became envious.  Could all wizards read?  

They looked at her reproachfully.  "Let her go," said a wizard in purplish robes.  "We can see if she is telling the truth.  Perhaps we can ask him…?"

"I will go to the others and see what they will say," said the tall wizard.  He went through a small archway and disappeared into the darkness.  Some of the other wizards waited with Rowena while a few others decided to move the other villagers into the shackles and chains.

After a long and agonizing wait, the tall wizard came back accompanied by a witch.  They walked up to Rowena and the other wizards, letting the witch survey Rowena seriously.  

"Should we just tie her up?" Asked one of the wizards.

"Hush," said the witch, annoyed.  She moved closer to Rowena and took her arm.  "I will take her up to my bedroom to clean up, and we will present her later.  She might not really be who she says she is."  Taking the letter and tucking it into her pocket, she led Rowena out of the dark dungeon and into another passageway.  The wizards left behind stared at their retreating forms, shrugged, and turned back to the other wide-eyed prisoners.

"My name is Aline," the young woman introduced herself.  "You are Rowena, I assume?"  Aline was tall, with straight brown hair, and she seemed only a few years younger than Rowena herself.  She carried an air of elegance about her, especially now that Rowena could see her clothing.  They were those of a lady, not a farmer girl or worker.  She had seemed out of place in the dungeons below, and now seemed less tense and more considerate.

"Yes," Rowena replied.  "Where are you taking me?"  

"Where I said I would be taking you.  My bedroom.  It is not actually mine, but mine for the time being, anyway, just for my visit here.  You need to be cleaned."  Aline's gaze was critical.

Rowena looked down at herself and realized for the first time that she truly was grimy.  The soot and ashes from the fires had stained themselves to her brown dress, and her hands were black with dirt and mud.  She was wearing shoes, but they were crusted in filth.  

The two women kept silent as they walked through the tunnels.  Their ghostly shadows flickered against the walls until some light shone through an opening.  

"This way," Aline instructed.  She stepped out of the dark tunnel into another corridor.  This one was large, spacious, and decorated with green tapestries.  Rowena left a faint trail of dirt with each step she took, and she winced when Aline noticed.  

The ceilings rose high, higher than any room Rowena had ever been in.  There were long vertical slits on one side of the corridor walls where the cold air flowed in.  Rowena thought she could see part of the ocean through them.  The little grey light that was left in the sky streamed in and caught dust specks in the air.  She was distracted, however, when Aline led her to a doorway.

"In here."  They stepped into a room, grander than anything Rowena had ever dreamed about.  This must be how kings and queens lived.  

Though incredibly exquisite to Rowena, the room was simple.  A polished oak table stood to the side with a few chairs surrounding it.  A wardrobe stood on the opposite end of the room, and there was a small raised platform extending from the wall.  The room was obviously someone's sleeping quarters.  A round window was placed high on the wall, and the room was illuminated with a few candles.

"This is my bedchamber while I stay in the castle," confessed Aline.  "If you really are of the Ravenclaw, I would not protest to your use of my clothing."  She tried a polite smile at the tired woman in front of her, but was greeted with silence.  Rowena wanted to ask who lived here and why she had been brought up, but was unable to utter the words.

Sighing, Aline crossed the room to pull open the wardrobe.  Rowena caught a glimpse of a pile of fine dresses before Aline pulled one out and shut its doors.  "Take this one," she offered.  

The dress was light blue, with a white trim and lace.  Rowena gasped.  "Oh, I could never wear something as beautiful as that."

"Why not?" asked Aline quizzically.  She shook her head.  "Never mind, just take this."

Trembling, Rowena took the dress from Aline and held it away from her body so as not to damage it.  "Stay here for one moment," instructed Aline.

She went through a small entryway in the back of the room and Rowena thought she could hear some mumbling coming from within.  Then, a gush of water.  Aline reentered the room, saying, "Come.  You may cleanse yourself in here."

Still holding the dress, Rowena walked to where Aline stood.  A bath was inside the stone room, filled with water.  Rowena's face must have showed confusion, because Aline laughed, saying, "Magic, my dear."  She left the small room and went back to the larger one, tidying and straightening her belongings as she waited for Rowena.

The water was lukewarm as Rowena tested it with a finger.  She stripped her clothes off, from her torn apron to her dirty shoes.  Stepping gingerly, cautiously, into the water, she immersed herself completely.  She said there for a few minutes before she began to cry.

She had absolutely no idea where she was.  She had revealed she was a witch.  Thomas was gone, and William was missing.  

Tears began to stream down her cheeks silently, leaving streaks in the dirt.  She tried her best not to make a sound, but a few whimpers escaped helplessly.  Rowena splattered the water a bit, to try and muffle the sound.  Splashing water onto her face, she washed her tears away.  

*     *     *

"How does this look?" Rowena asked.  Aline looked up to see Rowena standing shyly in the doorframe.  The blue dress fit her beautifully, though a few spots here and there seemed too small.

"Wonderful," Aline replied.  "Blue suits you quite well, you know."

"Thank you.  And thank you for letting me wear this.  It is more than I have ever…" Rowena trailed off, a bit embarrassed at her status so far down the ladder compared to Aline.  

"Do not worry!" Aline laughed.  "I did offer it, correct?"  

Rowena nodded.  Aline's speech was also more refined than her own.  "You look very fine yourself."  While Rowena had been bathing, Aline had changed into a white dress, with a white robe to keep herself warm.  

"Are you ready?"  

"Ready for what?"  Rowena was confused.  What was going to happen now?

"The festivities, of course."  Aline briskly gathered her hair together and put it into a complicated braid.  Half-down her back, it began to get sloppy.  "Oh, bother, I can never do this right and the servants have gone to help with the party.  Do you know how to braid hair?"  She looked at Rowena expectantly.  

"Oh, of course, all women do."  Rowena crossed the room to continue where Aline's long braid had left off.  "You were saying that we are to go to festivities of some sort?"

Laughing, Aline said, "I forgot you don't know.  You have been living with those non-magicals for so long.  Tonight, we are celebrating the successful raid."

Rowena froze, then quickly began to braid again.  "Raid?"

"An extremely noble Viking clan has come to visit my family here in the castle.  Well, we are only distantly related.  I am a cousin to the couple's son.  Luckily, I came and discovered that the clan had already arrived.  Apparently, they and my family have a long history of family friendships, so they decided to come here on their yearly raids."

"Who do they raid?" Rowena tried to ask innocently.

"Non-magicals, of course."  Aline laughed.  "You really are naive about these matters, aren't you?"

Rowena bristled at the comment, but kept her mouth shut.  She finished plaiting Aline's hair.

"Thank you," she said.  "Now we must go.  It has been long enough, we will be late."

Rowena once again followed Aline through a series of corridors and halls.  She tried to take in the detail, but Aline was walking too quickly and there was simply too much to look at.  

There were candles on lining the hallway.  Rowena stared.  Candle were a rarity in the village, and to see so many of them here was strange.  The lights flickered gently, and thin streaks of smoke curled up from the flames.

After what seemed to be forever, they reached a pair of large closed doors.  Rowena thought she could hear a few faint sounds of laughter and gaiety coming from within.

Aline smiled reassuringly at Rowena.  Pushing the doors open, a gust of warm air and loud discussion flooded them.  The room was large and decorated with all sorts of what Rowena considered to be riches.  Tapestries hung from the walls, and the guests were holding brass goblets.

The people… they were all wizards and witches of all ages in ornate robes.  They were dancing, laughing, eating.  Three tables were lined up in the room, taking up over half the space.  There was more food on the tables than what Rowena probably ate in a year.  

Rowena stood at the entrance in a state of shock.  A few of the wizards glanced over, gave her a strange look, smiled at Aline, and then went back to their business.  Rowena had never seen so many people in high cheer.  Then she remembered what Aline had said, and why they were celebrating.  She began to feel sick.

"Look!" Aline said, pointing.  "That is my cousin over there.  See those three people?  He is the light-haired one."  Rowena looked, and saw a group of three people sitting in the corner by themselves, talking softly.

"Go to them," Aline urged.  "My cousin is kind, he will take care of you.  I am sure the other two are just as nice.  I want to go talk to that man in the corner."  She hurried away to speak with the handsome man that she had set her eye upon, leaving Rowena lost.

Sighing, she looked toward the people to which Aline had pointed to.  They didn't seem to look as 'nice' as Aline had said, but what could be the worst that could happen?

Casting one last glance at Aline, now chatting animatedly with the man, Rowena made her way through the crowd, careful not to bump into anyone.

She approached nervously, and when she was within hearing range, the three inhabitants of the end of the table looked up at her.  Taking a closer look, she seemed to be the oldest of them all.

Aline's cousin had light blonde hair, and he even shared a few of the same facial features as Aline did – a sharp nose and high cheekbones.  His eyes were grey, and there were freckles sprinkled slightly across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes.  But there was something about his face that seemed a bit impish.  Not ugly, but very unique.

The other man, seemingly the youngest, had darker hair, and green eyes.  He didn't seem too cheerful at the moment.  His clothing was not as fine as Aline's cousin's, but he didn't seem to be a poor peasant.  In fact, all of the wizards seemed to live comfortably.  

The last of the three was a witch, sitting beside Aline's cousin.  She had the darkest hair of all, and it was pulled back in plaits that were even longer than Aline's.  She had a faint yet noticeable bruise on her right cheek, but the lights in the room were not bright enough for Rowena to inspect it any closer.  The robes of the witch were also the finest of them all. 

"May I sit here?" Asked Rowena nervously.  "Aline said…"

"Of course you may," the cousin replied, offering a kind smile.  He gestured to the seat across from him.  "Have a seat here, by Godric."

Rowena sat by the dark-haired man, smiling timidly.  He offered a smile back, but it was forced and did not quite reach his eyes.

"My name is Salazar," said Aline's cousin.  "And this is Helga."  The girl looked coldly at her.  Rowena decided never to trust Aline on her judgments again.  Salazar took a goblet off of a tray by a passing server, and placed it in front of Rowena.  She gingerly took a sip.

"Thank you," she said.  "It is a pleasure to meet you all."

~ * ~

If you've gotten this far, congratulations!  Next chapter is set up the way this one is, except with a different Founder.  You'll find out which when it's up.  Drop a review if you liked it, and even if you didn't, do so anyway!

I have way too many people to thank…

First and foremost is **Seereth** over at the Fiction Alley Park.  She's the one who came up with the idea of "What if the Founders were the opposite of what their house stands for?"  And thus this story began.  Without her, this would not exist!  

**A.L. Milton**, for her wonderful help and all those incredible sites she gave me.  

**Aisy**, for the picture of Rowena, and a new vocabulary for me.  (Inside joke.)

As for the beta team…  **Bree**, for the one night beta read.  Absolutely amazing.  Sorry it didn't get to you first time around, but next time we'll have to take extra precaution that _both_ our emails work. ;)  **Danae**, for listening to me talk about this on MSN all the time, be we're pretty even, right?  **Demi**, for staying on the phone with me and not hanging up every time I started talking about this fic.  And I did talk a lot about it.  **Fearthainn**, for the amazing and extremely detailed beta-read.  You have no idea how much of a help you were.  My jaw literally dropped at the sight of two pages worth of blue writing, all about Anglo Saxons.  You rock!  


	2. Smoke

Title: Shades of Grey (Chapter Two: Smoke)

Author Name: Gemini

Author Email: gemini@schnoogle.com or stardust_gc@hotmail.com

House: Schnoogle

Category: A bit of everything…

Keywords: Founders, Godric, Helga, Rowena, Salazar

Spoilers: Being familiar with all four HP books would be a good idea.

Rating: PG-13 to R

Summary: This chapter is about the next shade of grey - the second Founder. Appearances in this chapter by those darn 'muggins', happy raiding trips and once again, hats. Have you spotted the Black and the White yet?

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: See Chapter One for a complete overview of the "Opposites" idea.  But if you forget and you're too lazy to click on the links…

- This story poses the question of what would happen if the Founders Four weren't really what their house stood for (ie. Rowena=stupid, Salazar=honest, etc.).  Idea is courtesy of _Seereth_.

- The spell names in this story will be altered, as I thought it'd make sense if the names evolved over time, like languages do.

- If you spot any inaccuracies with the time period, please let me know so I can either correct it, or keep it in mind for the next chapter.  A.L. Milton and Fearthainn were kind enough to provide me with a bunch of sites, but I'm only a high school senior and I can't research everything. ;) I've chosen to keep our modern day language (to an extent) to stay simple.

- Credits are at the end of the chapter.

And here we continue…

Chapter Two: Smoke

By Gemini

_Shut out from him the bitter word_

_  And serpent hiss of scorning;_

_Nor let the storms of yesterday_

_  Disturb his quiet morning._

_Breathe over him forgetfulness_

_  Of all save deeds of kindness,_

_And, save to smiles of grateful eyes_

_Press down his lids in blindness._

_- John Greenleaf Whittier_

~ * ~

Spring, 954 A.D.

The morning sun glowed brilliantly on the forested fen.  Its yellow rays streaked through the treetops, lighting the traveling company below.  The second Founder was born two years after the first.  This time, the birth was successful, the mother lived, and the father stayed.  

The baby was strange.  It lay still and silent, but was alive and breathing.  Worried faces peered down from overhead, but they were ignored.  The baby slept soundly.

The mother was troubled, and the father anxious.  They remembered the legend: those born during a journey are destined to travel forever, from one place to the next, never belonging in one true home.  They are fated to roam lands and towns, never ending.

The company was returning home from a trip to the north.  They had spent much of the winter in a drafty castle that belonged to their kin, and it was time to return to their own home.  The mother had gone into labour a long distance away from Nædrehus, the massive stronghold where the company was returning to.  It was away on the horizon, sitting high on the hills.  Only magical beings could see it from a long ways away; it was enchanted to appear like an unfriendly bog to non-magicals.  She kept her eye on it as she went through the pain.

The father was proud.  This was his wife's first child.  Pure.  Untainted.  Ready to take on the family line.  Ready to continue the family's work.

"Are you ready?" asked Olivier.  The wind ruffled his light hair and beard which he tried to smooth down quickly.  He gazed down with indifferent blue eyes to his wife.  She was sweaty and her pale faced from the long labour, and Olivier was ready to go home.

Myriam looked down at her new child cradled in her arms.  "Yes.  I will be fine." She began to sing softly.

The carts and wagons began to move again, carrying the baby and the parents home.

963 A.D.  (Nine Years Later…)

"Come with me," said Olivier.  His dark cloak swished as he strode down the stone corridor.  Salazar followed dejectedly.  He knew where he was going.  And he hated it.

Olivier walked through the corridors with long confident strides, while Salazar had to jog behind his father to keep pace.  

They went through corridor after corridor.  The tall ceilings greatly contrasted with regular non-magical castles, as did the archways and warm air.  Magic was a very handy skill to have.  

Finally, they stopped at the end of a long hall.  A large green tapestry covered the end wall.  Green and silver threads wove together to form a pattern of flowers and trees.

Oliver turned to Salazar, who was breathing heavily, and asked, "Do you remember the way to enter?"

Salazar nodded.  He walked up to the tapestry as Olivier stepped to the side, surveying his son critically.  He liked to make sure that Salazar knew the different ways in and out of the castle, and the magic needed to do so.

Stepping up to the tapestry, Salazar touched the threads.  They shimmered into emerald light under his touch, and danced onto his fingertips as if to size him up.  They retreated back into the tapestry, which gently rolled up of its own accord.  A dark round hole stood in the wall.

Salazar looked at his father expectantly, but Olivier stared back empty of emotion.  "Go on."

Salazar stepped in hesitantly.  He had only been down this corridor twice ever before, and he didn't like what had waited at the end of the tunnel. 

A burning torch hung from the wall by the entrance, and Olivier grabbed it as he stepped in behind Salazar.  As he took the torch off its holder, the tapestry rolled back down, letting little light inside.

Olivier stood waiting silently behind Salazar.  

Salazar took a reluctant step forward, then began to slowly walk down the dark tunnel.  His father followed wordlessly behind him.  

The tunnel was long and seemingly endless, just like all the other corridors in their home.  The problem with building a home from magic was that there were no limits on how far or sharp corridors could bend.  Wizards could be a bit... eccentric.  The rooms could be anywhere, and the doorways could lead from one floor to the next.  It was a bit confusing for Salazar at times, but he loved to explore the secret passageways.  They made him feel safe.

But this one did not.  He knew where this tunnel would lead him.  He had been to the end and back.

"Quickly Salazar, your mother is already down there waiting!"  Olivier's voice was that of a teacher, not a father.  

"Sorry, Father," mumbled Salazar incoherently.  He walked faster, with Olivier trailing on his heels.  

As they approached the end of the tunnel, Salazar shivered involuntarily.  Olivier didn't notice, as he was too distracted, and it was dark, even with the flickering torch.  Their shadows glided along the walls seamlessly, and their footsteps echoed loudly on the hard floor.

The corridor came to an end, and Olivier placed the torch into the waiting bracket on the wall.  A stone panel moved aside, big enough for even a large grown man to enter.  Salazar could see the dungeons now.  Together, they stepped out of the lightless tunnel and into a large dank cavern.  Salazar couldn't even see the high ceiling.  It stretched up like a sky does in a vast valley – far away and limitless.

Myriam, who had been waiting in the dungeons, caught sight of her husband and son.

She rose from where she had been sitting - close to a little girl of six or seven years.  She had been playing with the girl's light blonde hair and was singing a soft song.  Motherly intentions, definitely, but the girl seem as if she was not taking them as such.  The girl looked as if she would break into tears at any moment.  She was non-magical of course, and Salazar knew what Myriam and Olivier would do to her.  He always felt a slight discomfort watching them, but did so anyway.  It was normal to do those sorts of things, wasn't it? Other wizards did it too. Maybe not the village wizards, but the big wealthy ones.

"You have arrived," Myriam said.  "Finally."  Olivier walked forward and placed his hand in her outstretched palm.  They turned away from Salazar and walked toward the ten or so non-magicals chained to the dungeon walls.  Their stance was commanding, and their aura, powerful.  They reigned supreme in Nædrehus, and they knew it.  They were like Adonis and his Aphrodite.  Olivier lifted his arm slightly behind him and signaled for Salazar to follow.

He did so, slowly.

"Salazar." Myriam's voice was lilting, playful.  "Look what we have here for you."  The girl shrunk away as Myriam's hand reached toward her.  "She is just a few years younger than you," purred Myriam.  "Come."

Though he didn't want to, Salazar obeyed his mother's command.  The girl was crying silently, wet tears streaking down her face.  

"Watch." His mother pulled out a long slender wand from the hidden pockets of her robes.  Knowing what was coming next, Salazar stumbled backwards into his father's large frame.  Olivier's hands clamped down on Salazar's shoulders as Myriam gravely declared, "Crucia!"

The little girl's shrieks echoed throughout the chambers.

967 A.D. (Four Years Later…)

"Let go!" Salazar struggled against his father's strong arms.  "Let me go!"

Olivier roughly shoved Salazar away.  His eyes glinted dangerously.  "Why won't you do it?"  His voice was angry, loud.

"I don't want to."  Their arguments always ended up like this.  A never-ending battle between the two sides.  

Olivier simply could not understand why Salazar refused to practice the Dark Arts.  Time and time again had the boy defied his mother and father.  Myriam had gone into hysterics after the third time Salazar resisted.

Salazar had a perfectly good reason why he didn't dabble in the Dark Arts: He didn't like it.  He didn't want to work to become a Master of some Dark activity that he didn't have a care for.  Salazar was like that, not caring about a lot of things.  Why bother with the Dark if it couldn't help him be good?

A lot of powerful wizards enjoyed making the lives of non-magicals miserable, though not all did.  It was mostly the high class, using non-magicals as servants.  In this time of persecution, all wizards were on the same side.  There was no Dark versus Light; it wasn't important.  Only wizards versus non-magical.  And even then, there were still certain groups on either side who were neutral, hoping that wizards and non-magicals could live together in harmony.

The majority of the population, both populations, disagreed.  They claimed that non-magicals and wizards were as different as night and day.  They could never live together in peace.  

Wizards who chose to pursue the Dark Arts were almost like they were in a separate class.  They believed in wizards winning over, dominating non-magicals.

"You can't force me to do it," Salazar hissed angrily.  "It isn't as if you could put a spell on me and force me to do something."

"There should be," spat Olivier.  He drew himself up to his full height and looked down at Salazar.  "I may not be able to force you, but I can punish you.  Maybe then you will see what you're missing."  Before Salazar could react, Olivier had grabbed him and pinned his arms behind his back.

"What are you doing?" yelled Salazar.  

"Silencia," cried Olivier, using one arm to point a wand at Salazar.

His voice died out in the quiet air, broken by only the sounds of the struggle.  Shuffling toward the end of the hall, Olivier deftly reached into Salazar's robes to take his wand away.  

He dragged Salazar to the end of the corridor.  Struggling to keep his son in his grip, he reached out an arm to open a small wooden hatch in the ground.  Beneath the hatch was a small dark space, big enough to hold two people if they were crammed together.  There were a few of these distributed throughout the castle especially for raiding purposes, in case non-magicals ever got in.  No one would think of looking in the ground for victims.

Olivier pushed Salazar into the dark hole.  Salazar's mouth opened wide in a silent scream as the hatch shut down on him, enclosing him in darkness.

"Obfirmus," commanded Olivier.  The hatch snapped firmly into place.  He pocketed Salazar's wand and stood over the hatch, watching it vibrate as Salazar struggled to break free.

Inside the small space Salazar struggled desperately to break the hatch.  He could see thin streaks of light shining through the small cracks in the wood, and a dark shape standing overhead.  

His body grew hot and shaky as he beat rhythmically at the hatch, throat burning as he shouted himself hoarse.  The only sound that came out was silence.  The small space engulfed him in a wave of nausea, and he curled into an upright fetal position.

Olivier looked at the hatch for another moment, with an air of refined dignity.  His robes were mildly wrinkled and his light hair was slightly tousled.  He turned and walked back down the corridor.  The banging grew softer as he walked further away, and disappeared as he turned from the long corridor to a shorter one.  He stopped, breathing heavily.  He heard footsteps approach and felt a gentle hand on his arm a moment later.  He turned and saw Myriam looking up at him concernedly.

"Is he still being troublesome?" Myriam laid her cheek onto her husband's shoulder.

Olivier nodded.  "We cannot force him.  A wizard who becomes Dark under force always ends up destroying himself."

"I know."

"Where is he?"

"I put him into the hiding cell," answered Olivier.  Myriam nodded, accepting this as a perfectly natural action.  "If we cannot force him, maybe we can persuade him."

"I am sure he will be persuaded.  One day."

976 A.D. (Nine Years Later…)

"Salazar!  Take the message, will you?" Olivier asked.  A large tawny owl had just swept in through one of the windows and landed on the table.  It fluttered about impatiently, and its feathers were soaked.  

The rain poured down in torrents that day, and the owl looked as though it had flown a long way.  Salazar plopped himself down in a chair by the table and held out some bread which the owl nipped at gratefully.  Salazar untied the string that held the sealed parchment to its leg and pulled it away as the owl munched on its snack.

"It's the Hufflepuff seal, Father," said Salazar.

"The Hufflepuffs?" Olivier furrowed his brow, then broke into a wide grin.  "The Hufflepuffs!  We have not heard from them for quite some time now.  Let me see the letter."  He abandoned his conversation with David and walked over to where Salazar was sitting.

David was one of Salazar's various cousins.  A good number of them were always at the castle at one time or another, along with aunts and uncles.  Salazar mainly conversed with those his age though, like David, or Aline.

Taking the letter from Salazar's outstretched hand, Olivier broke the seal and began to skim the letter quickly.  As he read further and further, his grin grew wider.

"They will be coming to visit," informed Olivier after he finished reading.  

David stood and came to where both Olivier and Salazar were, to peer at the letter from over Olivier's shoulder.  He pushed his curly brown hair away from his eyes as he quickly read the letter.  "Who are the Hufflepuffs?" He asked quizzically.  

"Family friends," Salazar said.  He held out his hand to the owl.  

"They are more than just family friends," corrected Olivier.  "They are also the most prominent Dark wizarding family ever."

"The name sounds familiar.  Where are they from?" asked David.

"They are a Viking clan," replied Salazar.  He turned to his father.  "Why are they coming for a visit?"

Olivier looked at his son with a raised eyebrow.  "Why do you think?"

Salazar remembered the last time the Olaf and his wife came to the castle.  He had been seventeen and the two Vikings had left their daughter in Scandinavia to come for a traditional raid.  They had invaded non-magical homes and taken a few non-magicals to have some fun with.

Salazar took a guess.  "Are they coming for another raid?"

"Correct," said Olivier happily.  "In a fortnight, and they are bringing their daughter this time.  She is your age, you know."  Salazar nodded.  "They have probably already set sail by now.  Olaf says to expect them soon, and he has left a few instructions."

"What sort of instructions?" Asked David.  

Olivier smiled.  "They want to make this the biggest raid anyone has ever seen.  It's their daughter's first time participating, and they want to let her see the height of wizarding power.  Olaf said that she has been on one before, but that was a long time ago when you were both wee ones.  But moving on, we are to recruit as many wizards as possible."  He looked at his son.  "Salazar, why don't you take on this task? Take a few others to help."

Salazar shrugged.  "Alright.  David, do you want to help me?"

David nodded.  "Might as well.  What else do the Hufflepuffs want us to do?"

"Prepare for the after-raid feast.  It's tradition.  I will ask Myriam to do that."

"And what will you do?" Asked Salazar.

Olivier grinned.  "I will send messages to the other families.  This will be a great gathering of wizards."

*     *     *

"Come this way," cried Salazar.  "There is a village just over these hills.  Mostly non-magicals but there are still a good number of wizards."  

David and Leor, yet another cousin, flew to where Salazar was hovering, looking down on a village.  One could look at them and mistake them for brothers: David, with his curly brown hair, looked like the calmer of the two, while Leor and his longer hair gave off the impression of a little brother who always got into trouble.

 "Wizards living in a non-magical village?"  Leor wrinkled his nose in disgust, making his normally sarcastic face look even more sour.  "Why?"

David laughed and clapped Leor on the back.  "It's not too bad," he replied.  "It isn't as if they are intermarrying."

"Alright, listen now.  I'll take that section of the village over there," said Salazar, pointing to the back of the village.  "David, you take those houses on the left.  Leor, you go towards the right.  Do you have the lists?"

They nodded.  They were each carrying a piece of parchment paper – lists of the known wizards and witches in the vicinity and their homes.  Olivier had tried to form a council a few years ago, and called on all wizards and witches to reveal their homes in the time of non-magical persecutions.  It was for safety reasons, Olivier had said.

They began to dismount their broomsticks with discomfort.  Flying broomsticks had been in use for about twenty years or so, but comfort still had not improved.  The three wizards grimaced as they dismounted, and threw the broomsticks to the ground disgustedly.

"I wish they'd come up with a way to make these more comfortable," grumbled Leor.  His blonde hair was windblown and he tried frantically to straighten it.

"They are uncomfortable, but nothing we can't handle.  At least we can travel quicker," said David.  The two cousins liked to bicker amiably about almost everything.

"They don't even fly straight! You have to steer as hard as you can to the left in order to make a decent turn."

"Well, that's true, but…" David was at a loss for another point to defend his beloved broomsticks.

Salazar grinned at his cousins.  "Let's go."

  
The three of them abandoned their broomsticks and made their way down the hills toward the sleepy village.  The rain had let up for a bit, but the ground was still wet and muddy.

It was a modest-sized village.  Not a big town or city, but it was big enough.  There were non-magicals walking around the village, carrying goods or on their way to the farmlands.  It was a typical village that one heard about in children's stories – those sleepy little ones with birds chirping in the background, pretty little children playing in the square, and perfectly thatched roofs.  But under the façade of a seemingly normal village, there was that hint of magic, the magic that kept the village so beautiful.  The villagers never knew what it was that made them such a countryside haven, but they didn't question a good thing.

The three young men parted ways, and Salazar headed toward the back of the village.  A few non-magicals gave him strange looks, not recognizing this newcomer, but Salazar recognized a few wizards and tipped his hat to them.  Not a wizard's hat, of course, otherwise he'd be captured and killed in seconds.

He looked at the first name on his list.  William.  Frowning, he tried to see if he could recall a wizard named William and failed.  He probably just hadn't participated in the last raid.

He stepped up to a small home and knocked gently on the door.  There was silence within, then footsteps growing louder as someone approached the door.

The door creaked open and a man with dark hair and hazel eyes peered out.  "Are you William?" Asked Salazar.  He nodded, and looked suspiciously at the man who stood on his doorstep.  After a moment, his eyes widened with recognition.

"You're of the Slytherin, aren't you?" Asked William.  Salazar merely nodded.  

William held the door open wider so Salazar could step in.  The home was modest, with a small bed of straw and a few pieces of cloth here and there.  Even William's clothing was nothing fancy – just dark trousers and a black tunic.

"My wife and son are out at the moment, but they will be home soon so you must hurry."

"Why must I hurry?" Asked Salazar, frowning.

William sighed.  "They are non-magicals.  Well, my wife is.  I'm sure Thomas must have a bit of magical blood in him though."

Salazar smiled inwardly, thinking about Leor's comment on intermarrying.  

"Well, you may not want to join in then," said Salazar, shrugging.  "A Viking clan will be coming for a raid and they want as many wizards as possible to join them.  A feast will be held afterward at Nædrehus."

"A raid?"

"A raid on non-magicals.  This village."  Salazar kept his face blank.  It was a bit hard to try and tell a man that his village was about to be burned down in a week's time.

"This village? You are going to raid this village? There are wizards here!"  William grew more furious by the minute.

"And that is why we are recruiting them for the raid.  And we won't burn it down completely," said Salazar offhandedly.  "Just a few fires here and there."

"What about my wife?" Asked William.  He glared at Salazar.  "And my son?"

Salazar sighed.  "Look, if you want them to be safe, just make sure they are out of the village when it happens."

"When?"

"In seven days, during the afternoon."

William's face was hard to read.  "Fine.  I will keep them away from the village.  But I will not join you."

Salazar raised an eyebrow.  "You will not join us?"

"No."

"Have it your way then.  But make sure to stay away during the raid.  You don't want two Dark families to get their hands on you.  They are a bit cold towards wizards who do not hate non-magicals."

"What about all the wizards in this town?  How do they feel about them?"

"The wizards in this town need someplace to live.  Do you think they live here just because it's a non-magical community?" Salazar asked.  "The wizards here need their food and skills.  We do as well, but we've managed to bring the non-magicals into our own home.  They work for us."  

William was silent.  Obviously, he knew that when Salazar said 'work,' he meant 'were captured and have no choice but to serve.'

"Just make sure you aren't here when it happens," said Salazar.  He turned and walked out of the small home.

Breathing in the cold air, he exhaled a puff of steam and walked to the next home.

*     *     *

One Week Later…

Salazar was in the sitting room with his mother and cousins as they waited for the Hufflepuff clan to arrive.  An owl had arrived earlier to deliver a short message: "We are here and docking now.  Wait for us to come soon."  Despite the emptiness of the message, the workers of the Slytherin castle were in a frenzy state of cleaning, arranging and beautifying the décor.  The non-magical servants were being put to the test. 

The statues and tapestries depicting magical beasts were moved out.  Olivier had been particularly proud of the Welsh Green dragon-hide that was spread out across the room's floor.  The Slytherin family also prided themselves on tapestries.  They were everywhere, covering the boring stone walls.  Green, silver, black and gold – they gave off a very cultured feeling.  Quite fitting for Nædrehus' inhabitants.  

"I can see them on the hills!" cried Myriam.  She left her sitting place at the window and hurried out of the room to inform Olivier.

Salazar walked to the window to peer out at the grassy valley.  He could see a large group of wizards hiking slowly toward the castle.  There was a mass of light hair, but a few dark-haired wizards as well.  There were a few wizards on horses – the head of the clan, Olaf, and his immediate family, Salazar assumed.  The servants walked, as did many of the other family members.  He could spot bundles and baskets being carried, and a few carts being wheeled slowly up toward the castle.  Away by the ocean, their massive ship was docked at harbour.

"Let me see," said Leor eagerly.  He and David both were not at the last raid, and had not yet met the Hufflepuffs.

"That big one at the front there is Olaf," said Salazar, pointing to a head that rose above the rest.  "He's the leader."  David joined them at the window.  "And that must be his wife and daughter with him."  They squinted, but could not make out the appearance of the daughter.

"My mother and father keep on telling me that she's my age," said Salazar.  "I think they're trying to hint at something."

"If she is your age, that means she is our age too," said David, grinning.  Salazar and Leor looked at him and began to laugh.

The three cousins laughed and punched each other good-naturedly.  

"What's so funny?"  A tall witch with straight brown hair entered the room.  Her white robes were pristine and seemed a bit out of place among the three joking boys.

"Aline!" Leor strode over and led her to the window.  "Look, they are almost here."

Aline looked out the window toward the traveling party, which was now entering the castle.  She grinned.  "Tonight will be a good night."

"Salazar!" His uncle, Gideon, entered the room.  "They have arrived.  Come say hello."  He vanished as quickly as he came.

Salazar looked at his three cousins, his friends.  "Let's go."  They raced out of the room together.

"This way," said Aline, heading toward a corridor by a window.

"No, this way will be faster," said Salazar.  "That corridor winds too much, this one will lead us straight there."  He led them through an enchanted corridor that was almost empty of any embellishment.  Olivier and Myriam preferred not to bother putting their woven tapestries or magical statues in the lesser known corridors, especially if the only person who used them was Salazar.  They preferred to travel through the main corridors themselves. 

This one was like any other traveling corridor – dark and absent for the light of magical candles that never burned themselves out. It was tedious seeing them day after day with nothing to look at along the way, but Salazar was used to it.

"Salazar, your castle is too confusing," complained David.  Salazar glanced back and saw both David and Leor pull out their wizard hats from inside their robes – probably to impress Olaf's daughter.

"Relax, David," said Aline.  "Once you get used to it, it isn't so bad."  Aline had spent many summers at the castle, and knew her way around almost as well as Salazar did.  Almost.

When they reached the bottom, there were a large number of wizards milling around in the front hall.  Olaf's big frame stood out among the crowd, but his wife and daughter were nowhere to be seen.   

"Ah, here he is!" Olivier, who had been chatting with Olaf, turned and spotted the group of four.  He beckoned Salazar and his cousins over.

"Olaf, you remember Salazar, don't you?"

"But of course," said Olaf.  His voice was low and gruff.  He reminded Salazar of a giant bear, especially with his light shaggy hair and furry pelts.  His face was weatherworn and he had a short beard that was carefully groomed.  "He was just becoming a man last time I saw him.  What happened?"  He and Olivier burst into loud laughter, joined by David, Leor and Aline.  Salazar laughed weakly along.

"No worries, Salazar!" Olaf clapped a giant hand on Salazar's back, almost knocking him over.  "Are you ready for tonight?"

Salazar nodded.  "We have recruited the wizards as you requested."

"Good.  Now, who is this pretty, young lady might I ask?"  Aline blushed.

"Oh, I almost forgot," said Olivier.  "This is Aline, David, and that is Leor.  They are my niece and nephews."  

Olaf nodded at them.  "I would like to introduce my wife and daughter to you, but the weather has been harsh on my daughter.  She is not feeling too well and requested a rest as soon as we arrived."  Leor and David looked disappointed.

"I hope she will be well by tonight," remarked David.  "It would be terrible for her to miss the raid that she traveled so far for."

"I am sure she will be," said Olaf.  He turned to Olivier. "I would like to go over our plans for tonight.  Can you fill me in after I tend to my family?  And perhaps Salazar would like to help as well?"  He did not mention David or Leor.

"Salazar and I, and a few of my comrades, will go over tonight's plans with you when you are not busy," said Olivier.  "Now, I will show you to your bedchambers."  He led Olaf away without another word, but turned around right before disappearing into the crowd.  "Salazar!"

Salazar sighed.  "I must go," he said to David, Leor and Aline.  "Father beckons."

"Maybe you will be able to catch a glimpse of Olaf's fair daughter now," said Leor mischievously.  Salazar grinned back as he headed toward the staircase.  

There were a lot of people gathered in the hall, but spotting Olaf was easy.  Salazar politely pushed his way through the crowd and hurried toward the men's retreating forms.

The hall was a bit quieter as they walked away from the crowds and to the other end of the castle.  The long corridor went through the center of the castle so there was little sunlight that shone in.  Enchanted candles flickered from their sconces on the walls, and the few paintings that hung from their hooks seemed dark and gloomy.  If Salazar hadn't known any better, he'd have thought they were walking underground because of the lack of light.

To a non-magical, the castle would have been terrifying, but wizards were used to the sunless corridors and rooms.  Besides, they had magic to make up for it.

They came to the end of the passageway and a large hall appeared.  Green tapestries adorned the walls like jewels.

"Your daughter is in here," said Olivier, gesturing to a closed door.  "Myriam and Thora are inside with her."

Olaf nodded.  "I will be just a moment then."  He knocked on the door and entered.  Salazar could see glimpse of a figure on the bed, but the door closed behind Olaf before he could make out who it was.

Olivier and Salazar waited silently in the hall until the door reopened. 

"She is resting well," informed Olaf.  "Thora and the servants are tending to her."

"Good," said Olivier.  "Now, I will show you to your bedchambers."  He led them into a doorway nearby.

The room was big enough to rival Salazar's own bedchambers.  It was homey, though not lived-in like Salazar's.  This room was reserved for the guests, especially the important ones.  It loomed like a fortress tower – very forbidding and intimidating.

It was a bit heavy on the Dark décor, Salazar noted.  A small statue of a Doxy faerie stood on the table by the bed, and if he stared hard enough, the little eyes moved back and forth.

The handles of the wardrobe were shaped like Kneazles, and around the enchanted candles dance tiny pixies.  The room seemed to scream out wealth.  Olaf nodded approvingly.  "It isn't home, but it will do I guess."  

Olivier smiled, almost coldly.  Their home was among the best in the land, and he prided himself on it.

Olaf walked closer to the wardrobe to inspect its handles.  "Kneazles!  I have heard that you were responsible for breeding them.  That is a remarkable feat.  Is it true?"

Nodding, Olivier replied, "It took years of work, but I've found a species that I am satisfied with.  We should show you our breeding stables when the raid is over.  It has changed much since you last came.  Perhaps your daughter would be interested?  I am sure Salazar wouldn't mind taking her for a private tour around our home."

Salazar rolled his eyes when the two men weren't looking.  "Of course I wouldn't mind," he said.

"That would be very generous of you," said Olaf.  "Now, I am quite finished looking at my bedchambers.  Show me your plans for tonight."

*     *     *

"Are we all present?" Olivier's firm voice rang out across the room.  

Salazar sat near the head of table by Olivier, and Olaf was down at the other end.  David and Leor were able to join after all, along with various men from Olaf's tribe and Olivier's company.  Also included were wizards from all over the lands.  Hugh, an extremely well-known wizard in England, sat by Olivier and Thorvald, Olaf's close friend, sat at the other end of the long table.  They were all staying in Nædrehus for the time being.

"We're all here, let's bring out the plans," said Hugh.  He was a small wizard, with light yellow, almost white, hair.  His blue eyes looked troubled as Salazar took out the hastily scribbled map from the pile of paper and spread it out in the middle of the long table.  Salazar dismissed the look as nervousness.  

He pulled out his wand and jabbed it on the map.

"This is the castle, right here.  The village is over the hills in this direction."  Salazar's wand traced a lazy path toward the village.  "It won't take long to make the journey, but we'll have to do it quietly."

"Non-magicals aren't as stupid as some wizards think," Olaf interjected.  There was a moment of silence, then the entire company burst into laughter.

"Now, there's just a matter of carrying equipment, establishing meeting points and distributing tasks," continued Salazar.

Once again, Olaf intervened.  "You are making this too complicated, Salazar. It is a raid.  We attack, plunder, and escape."

His brothers and comrades loudly expressed their agreement.

"As you wish," said Salazar, shrugging.  He rolled up the parchment and tucked it safely into his green cloak.  He didn't particularly care whether they ran in unplanned or mapped out their entire course.  He just wanted to get it done, and quickly.  The faster it was over, the better.  But he assumed not everyone present would agree with him.

"Maybe we should use broomsticks," commented David.  "It'll help us get there faster."

The others sitting at the table winced.  Thorvald shook his head.

"Don't you think broomsticks are a bit uncomfortable?" Asked Hugh.  "They help with speed, but we're not looking for speed tonight."

"Alright, fine," said David.  "But one day, broomsticks will be popular; you'll see."  Leor just laughed at him.

"Now, on to the actual raid," said Olaf.  "We agreed on fire, correct?"  

"Yes," answered Olivier.  "Burn the village."

"Completely?"

"Well… Why not?"

Olaf narrowed his eyes in concentration.  "It would be fun, but perhaps those muggins would be more upset if they had to rebuild their village instead of just abandoning it."

"Muggins?"

"Fools," explained Olaf.  "But on to more pressing matters: How many wizards are going to help? All, I hope?"  His steely gaze was threatening.

Salazar looked to David and Leor.  "Yes, all of them will help."  He thought about that man he had met, William, but decided against mentioning him.

"Most of them will help," corrected Leor.  "Some of the townswizards were unwilling.  A lot of them, actually."

"Unwilling?"  Olaf became angry.  "Unwilling?"

"Well, to be fair, Olaf, it is their village as well," said Hugh.  He winced as Olaf banged his fist on the table.

"They are wizards! Our kind! And they refuse to help us?"  

"They did not refuse," pleaded Leor.  "They just did not agree to help."

Olaf shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.  "That is their choice then.  We cannot help it if we destroy their homes as well."

Olivier frowned.  "Any wizard who does not join us is not necessarily against us." Though he liked to look down upon non-magicals as much as he could, Olivier did not think any less of wizards who did not.  It was a hard time, after all.  The magical beings had to band together instead of causing strife from within. 

"They will learn."  Olaf's voice was cold.  "And if their decision is to side with non-magicals…"  He trailed off.

"Don't dwell on it," advised Thorvald.  "For now, we must concentrate on the raid."

"Raid!" The company yelled and whooped together as they rose from the table.

*     *     *

A cold breeze nipped at the faces of the men and women standing together in the field.  The clouds had been heavy earlier that morning but by now had parted away and moved further and further beyond the horizon.  Salazar watched the crowd from high above in a tower window.

Olaf stood on the platform of a small wagon, and his already large frame loomed even higher, like a god on a pedestal.  "Does everyone have their wands?"  His booming voice traveled over the heads of the hyped up raiders – Norse and English.  A deafening roar sounded out as they raised their wands in unison.  A few sparks shot out of some of the wands, obviously from a few overexcited wizards.  Salazar could see his cousins in the front of the crowd, right by Olaf.  A few carts and horses stood at the back of the crowd – the horses on which rode Olivier, Myriam and Hugh.

"Are you ready to attack?" The roar grew louder, more urgent.  It resembled a rumble of thunder, but Salazar supposed that was what they were – thunder, ready to attack by way of lightning.  Olivier waited until the roar reached its crescendo and died down, like stormy ocean waves breaching each other, too fast to control.  He was playing this moment to its finest.  

Olaf raised his wand and let off sparks and embers.  "For magicals everywhere!"  The surge of men and women pressed forward as one as their cry grew louder again.  This raid was for the wizards and witches who had died at the hands of the non-magicals.  This raid was for the right of the living magical to be free.  This was for purity.

Salazar had decided to stay behind for a bit until the raiding part was over and only the burning and capturing would be left.  Aline had stayed behind too, but only because she was too afraid to get dirty.  A few witches participated, but most chose to stay in the dungeons to receive prisoners instead.

He waited until the crowd crossed the hills, and then set out himself.  That would give them some time to do the attack first. 

It wasn't that Salazar was against attacking non-magicals.  It was just that he didn't feel a particular need to.  

Throughout his entire life, he had not sought out non-magicals to torment.  That was what Olivier and Myriam did.  As a child he was brought down to the dungeons to have him become used to the screams, but instead of encouraging him they just pushed him away.  Olivier would lock Salazar in a hiding chamber for hours, sometimes even lasting up to a day.  All this had accomplished was Salazar's decreasing love for his father.

Olivier and Myriam had stopped trying to push Salazar when he was seventeen, on the first raid.  Salazar had accompanied them, but didn't make any move to be aggressive toward the non-magical village.  They decided to just let him be, though it was clear that they were disappointed.  From then on, they liked to pretend that Salazar was just as Dark as they were, but they knew it not to be true.

Salazar, being the way he was, did not care whether he was Dark or not.  Sure, it had its advantages, like being powerful, but he couldn't be bothered to actually seek out a Dark status.  It didn't matter where he was or what he was, as long as he had a bit of fun doing it. 

"Salazar, shouldn't you be going with them?" Aline's voice shook him out of his thoughts.  He turned to see her standing in the doorframe, looking suspicious.

"I'm going right now," he replied.  "Excuse me."  He walked past her but pushed his shoulder into hers, causing her to stumble back slightly.

"They'll find out, you know," she called after him.

He ignored her.  Aline had always known about his neutral decision, and enjoyed teasing him about it.  It wasn't a sin to not hate non-magicals, just a bit strange.  Especially if you came from a family like the Slytherin.

Continuing down a magical corridor, he left the castle with his wand ready.  

Already there was smoke wafting from the village.  He couldn't see the village over the hills, but the smoke was apparent.  It was drifting endlessly and disappeared into the sky, wisps of grey wandering over the land.

He walked tirelessly until he came to the entrance to the village.  It was not as he remembered.  The sleepy village was no longer from a fairy tale.  It was on fire, burning with flames that wouldn't stop.  They were high now, shooting into the sky.  A little boy was standing near the entrance.  Probably a non-magical, judging by his clothing.  He wore a brown tunic, a brown shirt and a brown belt.  He even had light brown hair that was plastered to his face.  No wonder wizards liked to dress in bright colours, this boy looked downright boring.  But he was staring into the village desperately, as if searching for something, or someone.

The boy caught sight of Salazar and backed away slowly.

Salazar tucked his wand away and held up his empty hands.  "I won't hurt you, it's alright."  The little boy ignored him and ran in the opposite direction, disappearing from sight.  Rather than pursuing him, Salazar walked over to where the boy had been standing.  A basket lay fallen, cloth spilling out.

He was about to turn away, but something caught his eye.  A black wizard's hat had fallen out.  He stooped down to pick it up.

It was of good quality, but he failed to think of a reason why a non-magical boy would have it. 

Shrugging, he tucked it into his cloak.  Might as well put the hat to good use.

The heat of the fires was becoming too intense.  Salazar pulled out the map that Olaf had refused, and squinted at the tiny writing.  A wizard's market was just about a mile away, and the map left instructions on how to enter it.  He put the map away again and headed for the market, leaving the flames behind.

There was a regular market as well, with a few non-magicals.  The map had said that there was always an empty stall, and magical beings could enter it and the wizarding market would appear behind the non-magical one.  Naturally, it was charmed to repel anyone non-magical.

Salazar ignored the other market patrons and stepped into the empty booth.

A non-magical vendor quickly hurried over, exclaiming, "Wait, you can't go in there!"  But his eyes glazed over as he approached.  Quickly hurrying off, he called back to Salazar, "Can't talk, I have pressing matters to attend to!"

Salazar shook his head and stepped away from the booth and into the now-visible wizard's market.  It was crammed full of wizards from the raid.

A stall nearby was selling clothing, of all things.  Of course, wizards who were not peasants didn't make clothes themselves, so trading for specially made hats and robes was normal.  Also, they were too impatient for their non-magical servants to make them the way they wanted it.  Salazar walked over to the vendor and held out the hat he had found.

"Care to trade?"

The vendor looked at the hat, unimpressed.  He was wearing a fancy yellow hat and yellow and black robes himself, giving the impression of a very energetic bumblebee.

"There's nothing special about that hat," he said to Salazar.  "The only thing you'd be able to trade for that is another hat just like it."

"Actually," began Salazar, inspiration hitting, "it's a very magical hat.  Brings good luck to the wearer."

The vendor looked at him suspiciously.  "How would you know?"

"A servant made it for me and I charmed it, but I already had a good hat, so here I am about to trade it for one of your fine cloaks."

The vendor grinned.  "Brings good luck, eh? Alright then, take your pick of cloaks.  But not those." He pointed to some that were obviously very expensive.  They were also fairly bright in colour.  They were the sort of things flashy old ladies wore.

Salazar sighed, handing over the hat.  "I'll take that one."  He pointed to a green cloak, similar to the one he wore already, but more formal.

"Deal," said the vendor.  He took the robe from the stall and handed it to Salazar.  

Salazar left the stall carrying his new cloak, and could hear the wizard saying to himself, "Good luck hats.  What will they think of next?"

"Aha, there he is! Salazar!" Salazar turned around to see David and Leor waving him over.

"Where have you been?" Asked Leor.

"Just having a bit of fun in the village," he lied.  "What's happening now?"

"Olaf is still here somewhere with his daughter, but we can't find them.  Your father already left for the castle," explained David.  He was sporting a new hat, obviously from the vendor Salazar had just traded with.  

"Is the raid over, then?" Asked Salazar.  "That was quick."

"Well, there are a few raiders still in the village, taking any last non-magicals.  And some have headed out to other villages by now, just for a bit of fun.  But otherwise, a lot of them are carrying the captured non-magicals back to the dungeons."

Salazar nodded.  "Alright then, let's head back as well.  We'll see Olaf and his daughter tonight at the feast."

Together, the three of them made their way back to the castle.

*     *     *

"Salazar, is that a new cloak?" Myriam had poked her head into the doorframe of Salazar's bedchambers and spotted her son trying to choose a cloak to wear.  

"Yes, I traded it at the market," he said lazily.  "Do you think this hat will match?"

Myriam nodded.  "You will probably just take it off mid-feast anyway," she said.  "It always gets warm in the feast hall.  Too many candles and people, and your father still insists on charming the room to make it even warmer."

"Is there anything you wanted, Mother?" Asked Salazar.  

"Just wanted to make sure you will be looking your best tonight.  Olaf and Thora's daughter will be present, and you know how useful it would be if our families merged.  Be prompt."  She winked at her son and then left the room.

Salazar sighed.  He finished fastening his cloak at the neck, and ran his fingers through his light hair.  Sure, he had had a few girls over time, but wizarding tradition called for marriage in the mid-twenties or so.  Being only twenty-two years of age, he was getting closer to having to find a suitable wife.  Perhaps he wouldn't marry anyone; perhaps he'd just roam the lands, have some fun here and there.  But Olivier and Myriam would be so angry they'd hunt him down and force him to produce an heir for the family.

Women generally married a bit younger, but Salazar had a feeling that Olaf and Thora were letting their daughter wait for him.  Their family friendship traced a long way back.

He put his hands into the small handbasin on the table and splashed his face with warm water.  He stared at his reflection, watching it move back and forth as the water collided on the sides of the container.  He didn't look too bad, he figured.  Grey eyes, freckles… he wished he could do something about his facial structure though. He looked impish, like he was always up to something mischievous.

There was another knock at the door.  It was David, and he didn't look happy.

"Salazar, we have a slight problem," he said hesitantly.  

"What is it?"

"There is a non-magical woman we captured, and she's claiming she's a witch."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"She had a letter with her."  David entered the bedchambers and held out a crumpled parchment letter to Salazar.

He inspected the broken seal closely.  It seemed familiar.  Skimming it over quickly, he looked up in disbelief.  "The daughter of Hugh of the Ravenclaw?  But Hugh said she was dead."

David shrugged.  "What shall I do with her?"

Thinking quickly, Salazar ran the different options through his mind.  The daughter of Hugh was here, in his home.  She had been missing for so long, and now she was here?  What would Hugh say?

"Have Aline go with you," said Salazar.  "She can take Rowena to her bedchambers and prepare her for the party.  Hugh will be… surprised, to say the least."

David nodded.  "Right away."  He vanished again.

Salazar sat down heavily on his bed.  'Surprised' was the wrong word.  Shocked, definitely.  No.  He shook his head to clear his thoughts.  This might not be her.  It might just be a non-magical who somehow had gotten her hands on the letter.  

It didn't matter.  What mattered was that a woman was here who claimed to be Hugh's daughter.  What also mattered was that Hugh was here as well.

Sighing, he rose from the bed and made his way down to the feast hall.  Perhaps it will solve itself out.

There were already a lot of guests as he pushed the door open.  There was Hugh as well, chatting with some of Salazar's kin.  Aline was nowhere to be seen, probably still tending to the woman.

The room was filled with dancing witches and feasting wizards.  He could hear music floating in the background, probably coming from someone's wand.  It was unusually warm, but that was because of the sheer number of people in the room, and the hot food that let off steam in the air.  It was a bit stuffy, and the air smelled very much of cooked chicken and fresh baked bread.  

Salazar surveyed the room and did not notice Olivier marching up to him.  Olivier's formal robes were green and silver, and Salazar noted with disgust that he looked very much like a snake.  Salazar hated snakes. They were long and looked slimy.  And those tongues, flickering in and out rapidly…  He shuddered involuntarily, but Olivier didn't notice.

"Where have you been?" He hissed.  "They are waiting for you."

"Who?" Salazar asked, confused.

"Olaf's family," Olivier answered.  He sighed impatiently.  "Come with me."

Grabbing his arm, Olivier led him toward Olaf's towering form.  Myriam was there, as was Thora, Olaf's wife.  Standing with them was a young woman - Olaf's daughter.  She was beautiful; there was no doubt about that.  Her face was sharp, and her cheekbones were high upon her face.  Her eyes looked like the dark jewels that adorned her neckline and wrists.  The light yellow and white robes she wore were so clean and refined that Salazar knew that they must have been prepared by servants.  She seemed exotic, not quite like a Norsewoman.  Instead of the usual light hair, hers, like her family's, was dark, long and shone like silk.  She wore it in tight plaits that shimmered slightly.  Salazar figured she used a few charms to beautify herself; he had never seen a woman naturally look like she did. 

She did not seem very happy.  Her dark eyes were downcast, and Salazar frowned at the bruise that marred her cheek.  

"He is here at last," cried Olivier jovially.  The waiting company looked to see Olivier approach with Salazar in tow.

"Wonderful," Olaf boomed.  He and Thora looked at each other proudly.  "Salazar, we would like you meet our daughter, Helga."

Helga raised her head and looked at him, emotionless.  She nodded acknowledgement, but did not say a word. 

Salazar raised an eyebrow.  Well, if this is the way she wants it…

"Enchanted to finally meet your acquaintance," he said, bowing low.  He took Helga's hand and kissed it lightly.

She couldn't help but offer a slight smile, though it did not meet her eyes.

Salazar saw Thora silently admonish her daughter with her eyes.  Thora gave an almost bear-like impression herself, just like her husband, only slightly smaller and not as aggressive.  Again with the light hair, Salazar noted.  

"It is… enchanting to meet you as well," Helga finally said, slightly curtseying.  Her yellowish robes folded on the floor as she dropped down low.

"Let us leave the young ones to themselves, eh?" Asked Olaf, winking at Salazar.  "I am sure they will not be interested in our political talk."

Salazar was left with a feeling of dread as they walked away, leaving him to stay with the sullen woman.  

"Well," he began.  He tried to think of something to say.  "Would you like to dance?"

~ * ~

The 'legend' that I mentioned at the beginning, "…those born during a journey are destined to travel forever, from one place to the next, never belonging in one true home…", is probably not true. J It was inspired by the brilliant movie Chocolat and I highly recommend it to all. 

Thanks for all your kind reviews over at the Atlantis list! J They really made my day, except for Andy's incest comment. (Just kidding.)

Also thanks to the betas this for this round: Fearthainn, who is always first to return it; Bree, who is always second to return it; Danae, who is always third to return it; Demi, who is always last and has more comments than I do writing; and Aisy, who beta'd this chapter and then lost it.  


	3. Slate

Title: Shades of Grey (Chapter Three: Slate)

Author Name: Gemini

Author Email: castorandpollux84@hotmail.com

House: Schnoogle

Category: A bit of everything…

Keywords: Founders, Godric, Helga, Rowena, Salazar

Spoilers: Being familiar with all four HP books would be a good idea.

Rating: PG-13 to R

Summary: The third Founder is born.  Viking raids, happy killings, and what on earth is up with that hat?

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: See Chapter One for a complete overview of the "Opposites" idea.  But if you forget and you're too lazy to click on the links…

- This story poses the question of what would happen if the Founders Four weren't really what their house stood for (ie. Rowena=stupid, Salazar=honest, etc.).  Idea is courtesy of _Seereth_.

- The spell names in this story will be altered, as I thought it'd make sense if the names evolved over time, like languages do.

- If you spot any inaccuracies with the time period, please let me know so I can either correct it, or keep it in mind for the next chapter.  A.L. Milton and Fearthainn were kind enough to provide me with help, but I'm only a high school senior and I can't research everything. ;) I've chosen to keep our modern day language (to an extent) to stay simple.

- Credits are at the end of the chapter, as well as some extended Author's Notes. ::grins happily::

Quick Note:  _Viðurr_ – "Destroyer" in reference to the god Odin, Óðin 

_This chapter is dedicated to time, because I want more of it.  _

And here we continue…

Chapter Three: Slate

By Gemini

"The hounds have changed at last; and when we imagined we had a fox to deal with… it turns out to be a badger at last!"

_-Henry Fielding, The History of Tom Jones (1917)_

~ * ~

_Autumn, 954 A.D._

It was a cold day in the north.  It often was as the seasons changed to winter.  The dark skies threatened to rain down torrents, and those gathered outside of the longhouse despondently watched their breaths turn into grey puffs of air.  

Only a few months after the second Founder was born, the third Founder arrived.  The midwives developed a makeshift bed for the mother to lay on as she went into a painful labour and someone had lit a fire earlier to keep the air inside warm.  

The birth lasted a long time.  The rest of the clan waited outside impatiently, hovering close together to keep warm.  They were a mass of furs and hoods, waiting for that one sound to signify their welcome in the longhouse – the sound of the baby's cry.

But it lasted a long time.  The father's tall bear-like figure loomed by the door putting his ear to the wood and trying to listen to the midwives' voices.  He could only hear muffled sounds and an occasional thump.  They sounded panicked.

Inside, the mother lay panting and gasping.  She had never been through anything remotely this painful.  It was _too_ painful.  Her vision swirled in and out of blackness and beads of sweat rolled down her cheeks as she screamed herself hoarse.  Her long dark hair clung tightly to her face, plastered and wet.  She gripped the sides of the straw bed so tightly that there were indentations in her palms.  She had small cuts where the straw had pierced her skin.  

"Make it stop!" she cried.  Through her blurred eyes she could see blotches of red on the midwives' arms.  They stood at the end of the bed, bent over with their heads together, whispering worriedly.  The mother caught a glimpse of them through her spread knees and began to call for her husband.

The door burst open and he had forcefully strolled in as soon as his name was called, but a sudden wave of elderly women acting as the mother's midwives approached him and gently pushed him back to the door.  He stared worriedly as his wife screamed even louder.

There was more red, she noticed.  But the pain was slowly fading.  It had been a harsh and furious sensation in her abdomen earlier, but now she could only feel a dull ache.  Someone began to mop her forehead with a wet cloth.  

A soothing voice whispered, "It's alright now… It's fine…" A midwife had bent over and wiped away the sweat on the mother's forehead.

"My baby?" she asked.  Her voice was frantic and she clutched at the other woman's arms desperately.

The midwife smiled comfortingly at the mother.  "You will have to be careful.  It is very weak.  That was a difficult birth, was it not?"  But the mother, relieved to hear that her baby was alive, fell out of consciousness and drifted into a resting sleep.

_961 A.D. (Seven Years Later…)_

Helga was going on her first raid.  She was extremely nervous, and partly excited.  Her mother and father had told her that children were usually never allowed to accompany the adults in pillaging the homes of non-magicals, but being the only daughter of a powerful Dark wizarding family had its advantages.

Her mother, Thora, often remarked how wonderful it would be if Helga was skilled in the Dark Arts at an early age.  She'd give a proud smile to her daughter as Olaf laughed jovially with his wife and daughter.  They seemed like any average family – loving, close, content.  The only factor that separated them from the rest was that they were quite a big player in the Dark Arts.  They weren't 'evil' – that was a term they preferred to reserve for wizards who used the Dark Arts only to profit for themselves.  The Hufflepuff clan used the Dark Arts to profit the wizarding community.  But there was a thin line in these days of who was Dark and who was not.  Everything laid in politics, not morals or ethics.  The line was between wizards of all sorts and non-magicals.  

Instead of 'evil', they were simply ruthless.

Rutheless towards non-magicals anyway.  Among wizards they were friendly.  Helga didn't quite understand the workings of wizards versus non-magicals, but she knew that the non-magicals were dirty, stupid bastards and whores.  That was according to her father, of course, but she knew he was right.  He always was.  

Non-magicals outnumbered wizards, but wizards had magic on their side, and magic was a most powerful advantage.

"Mama, is that the village?" She pointed to a small faraway village on the coast of the land.  Thora wrapped her arms around Helga and pulled her away from the ship's rails.

"Yes, Helga, that is the village."  Thora turned her daughter to face her.  "I know your father said you could come on this raid, but I want to set a few rules."

Helga let out a small groan.  "Mama, _please_."

Thora continued on as if Helga had not said a word. "First, do not stray away anywhere by yourself.  A non-magical could get ahold of you and who knows what would happen?"  She shuddered.  "Keep close to your cousins.  Your father will be busy and I may not have time to look out for you.  You'll be safe, I promise.  Second, _observe_.  You'll be in charge one day."  She brushed Helga's dark windblown hair away from her face and kissed her forehead.

Thora let Helga go and walked in the direction of the ship's stern.  Helga turned around again and was instantly whipped in the face by her long hair.  The wind was blowing hard and stung her eyes so that tears formed.  She pulled her furs tighter and wrapped them around her head and neck like a shawl.   

Around her on the ship's decks, she watched her cousins and aunts and uncles bustle back and forth in anticipation of the raid.  

Olaf's youngest brother, Sigwulf, caught sight of Helga and merrily waved her over to where he stood with her cousins.  Sigwulf was only one of her many uncles, but he was her favourite.  He always teased her and laughed when she laughed.  The elders often remarked that he was like a child himself.  Helga didn't see anything wrong with that; being a child was fun.

"Hello Sigwulf," cried Helga.  She ran into his open arms and he tossed her into the air like a doll.

She screamed happily at the top of her lungs until Sigwulf set her down, laughing.  "Helga, you'll get us into trouble," he whispered to her conspiratorially.  He ruffled her short hair dark hair that contrasted greatly with his white flaxen hair.  "Besides, you're getting too old and heavy."  He made a face as if he was in pain, but Helga only laughed at him.

"Sigwulf!" A deckhand yelled down from the upper deck.  "We've arrived! Come help!" He disappeared over the wooden railing as Sigwulf turned to Helga.

"Duty calls, my lady."  He bowed low to her and walked to where the rest of his brothers stood.  

Helga clambered up to the top deck where Olaf and Thora stood at the head of the crowd.  They had arrived and were fast approaching land.  The non-magical village was bigger, and Helga could make out a few villagers as Olaf put a strong hand on her shoulder.

The sea sparkled in the sunlight and the sky was a clear brilliant blue.  It seemed like a perfect day to laugh and play.  Instead, it was going to be a day of bloodshed.

"There it is, Helga," said Olaf.  The hand on her shoulder clasped her tighter.  "That is what a non-magical village looks like."  His voice carried disgust.

Helga wrinkled her nose.  "It's ugly."

"It's alright, darling," said Thora absentmindedly as she patted Helga's other shoulder.  "It will be gone soon."

*     *     *

The raid was on.

The Norse travelers disembarked their ship with great bloodlust, shouting hoarse war cries.  They were a flurry of wands and tightly fitted black hats.  Cloaks billowed around Helga enveloping her in a cloud of bright shades and hues.  

Another advantage to being a fighting wizard: Your colourful yellow and blue cloaks intimidate bland non-magicals.

Helga walked down the plank following her two older cousins, Astrid and Ragna.  Olaf and Thora were naturally in the lead, and they had charged Astrid and Ragna with the task of keeping their daughter safe.  The front flanks were in the most danger so Helga was to be kept near the back out of harm's way. Parents always assume that keeping their children at bay from the danger is always best. Strange, isn't it? Now their children aren't even in their line of sight.

Astrid and Ragna were not the right people to ask to look after Helga.  They were young, on the cusp of becoming adults.  They were more interested in watching (and joining) the young men in battle rather than looking after their young cousin.  It didn't matter that Helga was almost royalty in the family; she was still just a baby to them.

"Helga, _hurry_," said Astrid, exasperated.  She and Ragna stood at the foot of the plank, dressed and perfected in similar ways.  Long hair, long lashes, long legs.  Magic, light and everything bright, that's what little witches are made of. 

Helga quickened her pace to please her cousins, but still walked lazily along.  When she reached Astrid and Ragna, they each grabbed her hands and pulled her to follow the raging throng of wizards.

"Ragna." Helga tugged on Ragna's sleeve. "Mama and Papa don't want me in the battle." 

Ragna ignored her and continued pulling her toward the battle.  Helga tried to stop, but she was weaker than her two cousins.  They delved deeper into the pit of shrieks and attacks.  The non-magicals were fighting as well, now.  They had run straight into the Norse company, two races merging into one group full of killing and hatred of people not so unlike themselves. And that went for both the magicals and non.

Helga screamed as a battle-axe swung close to her head.  "Astrid! Ragna!" Her cries went unanswered.  Her clothing was becoming splattered with mud as the battle raged on.  She tried to look for someone she knew; Astrid and Ragna had disappeared.  Well, now she saw Astrid. She was lying on the ground with a bloody dagger embedded in her stomach.  

Helga began to back away, bumping into a wizard who was running past – her cousin Sigwulf.  He was carrying a round shield and an ax.  He was one of the wizards who preferred to use traditional methods of battle as opposed to wand magic.  Beat the non-magicals at their own game.  As he ran past, he slowed, then stopped, as if he just realized who he had bumped into.  Turning around, he stared at Helga with wide, confused eyes.  "Helga?" She stared back, afraid.  His face was specked with blood. "Helga, get back!" 

"Sigwulf!" she screamed.  He jerked unnaturally, and fell as a corpse, bloody and broken.  A non-magical stood over him, withdrawing his sword from Sigwulf's back.  He looked in Helga's eyes for a brief moment, enough to send her running from the scene.  

Her breath came in quick gasps.  She wasn't supposed to be here. Astrid and Ragna, the latter of whose body Helga just tripped over, were supposed to look after her.  She was supposed to be safe from harm; her mother had promised her.

Whether by fate or luck, she was unharmed as she moved closer and closer to the edge of the battleground.  The battlers, magicals and non-magicals alike, ignored her.  She was too small, too insignificant, to matter in the war.

The fighting was taking place on the clearing between the non-magical village and the sea.  To the side, there was a forest.  Helga ran for it.  

The darkness and shadows enveloped her invitingly.  Here, the fray of killing was softer, less frantic.  She looked upon them now; she wasn't in their midst.

The sunlight sifted in through the treetops.  If she had been a non-magical girl, she would have thought it seemed almost magical.  There were rabbits, flowers, and soft fern bushes.  Perfect for hiding.  The forest looked safe and homely.

What was that saying? It had something to do with not judging by appearances.  Or was it about better being safe than sorry?

Helga didn't have time to think.  A hand clamped itself over her mouth and an arm folded around her stomach.  She tried to scream again, but only a muffle squeal sounded out.  She could hear harsh laughter behind her and her captives.  

Whoever had her in their grip turned the two of them around so they faced a group of children, not much older than herself.  They were the ones who had laughed.  Their clothing was brown and bland, their hair stringy and limp.  There were about ten of them, not including the one who held her.  Whoever it was decided to throw her on the ground.

She hit the dirt floor hard and could vaguely hear the group of children surround her.  She looked up into the face of her captor – a boy, a few years older than her, sneering at her dirty upturned face.   

"_Magical_."  He said it like it was a curse.  He spat on the ground by her head and reached to grab her hair, hauling her up like an animal.  "We _hate_ your kind."

"You've done nothing but cause trouble for us," added a brown-haired girl.

"Killing and pillaging – is that all you do to us?"

"Monster!"

Realizing she had tears running down her face, she reached up to brush them away.

"Look, she's _crying_."  The tone was not sympathetic.

She began to whimper.  "Please, don't hurt me."  Even to her own ears, her voice sounded weak and pathetic.  She only made the children laugh harder.

Helga winced as the boy's hands on her arms tightened.  

"Hurt you? You're the one who hurts us," he said.  

"Yeah!"

"You're hurting us!"  A little girl who looked close to Helga's age jabbed her finger in Helga's face.  "_You_ are hurting _us_!"

It was the war cry that the children needed.  A flurry of movement broke out as Helga struggled to break free.  

But she was held too tightly.  Slowly, slowly, she dropped into blackness as fists rained down on her face and body.

*     *     *

"Helga…"

A wet cloth was held to her forehead.

"Helga…"

The voice drummed like a hammer in her head.  She wanted to sleep.

"Helga? Are you awake?"

She tried to tell whoever it was to go away, to stop talking, but all that came out was a small groan.

"She's awake!"

The last thing she wanted to do was open her eyes, but she did so anyway.  They were dry, and the bright sunlight made her wince.  She thought she could feel a rough straw bedunderneath her, but her thoughts didn't let her focus on that.

"Helga, how do you feel?" Thora's concerned face peered down into Helga's.  Surrounding her were a few servants.  Cousins and uncles wandered around, but didn't dare to come closer.  The wrath of a mother can be quite frightening.

She wanted to tell her mother that she hurt, that she was sore, but could only say, "Mama…"

"Here, drink this."  Thora handed her a small bowl filled with water.  It tasted like heaven.  Helga gulped down the water as fast as she could.  "Tell us what happened."

It was a few moments before Helga could explain what had happened.  When she finally told her mother, Thora was appalled.

She didn't say anything, but simply rose from the deck and walked over to a rail.  She leaned over and loudly yelled, "Olaf!"  Then she returned to Helga.

Olaf came running up to the deck, frantic at his daughter's condition.  Who says Dark wizards can't be good parents?

"What has happened?" His large form looked weak and small.

"Helga tells me that she was attacked.  By non-magicals." Thora's voice was stiff.

Olaf's eyes changed slowly from concern to confusion to anger to hate.  "Non-magicals attacked my daughter? They attacked _my daughter_?"  Hate to rage.  "They will pay for this."  Rage to seething, murderous thunder.

Maybe a few wizards would say that Dark wizarding parents aren't good ones, but they were at least damn well skilled at revenge.

"Thorvald!  Finn!  Bjorn!"  Two of his brothers and one cousin came running.  "We will attack again."

Thorvald, Olaf's close friend and cousin, looked at him confusingly.  "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."  

"They attacked _Helga_," said Olaf.  It was the only explanation he needed.  

His three comrades-in-arms only stared him.  Finally, Finn sighed.  "Alright. We will attack again.  But we will have to be careful."  Olaf had already walked away after patting Helga's head determinedly.

Thora turned to Helga, smiling triumphantly.  "See? Olaf will fix this."

All Helga could think about was the children who had attacked her.  They looked like her, though maybe a bit uglier.  They spoke like her, though maybe with a horrid accent.  They were children, like her.  

_964 A.D.  (Three Years Later… Interlude)_

"Mama?  Are you leaving now?"

Thora was impatient, anxious to depart.  "Yes Helga.  Remember, you will see Olaf and I again a few weeks' time.  And Freydis and Grimhild will be here to look after you."  Her voice took on a soothing tone.  "They will cook for you and make sure you are safe."

  
Helga turned around to where Freydis and Grimhild stood, waiting for Thora to put her daughter in their care.  They were a bit elderly, but looked as if they could wring a man's neck with their bare meaty hands.

"Helga, we can't risk putting you in danger like last time," said Thora.  Helga understood, though she really didn't want to.  Thora took Helga's silence as a confirmation.  "Be careful.  And be good!" she called as she walked down the hill to board the ship.  As an afterthought she yelled out, "You can come again when you're older!"  

Helga watched the ship sail away into the seas.  Most of her family were aboard.  The more elderly people stayed behind with a few younger ones to guard them.  But otherwise, that ship was taking away her family.  

She was secretly relieved.  The nightmare of those non-magical children had haunted her for a year after the incident.  She preferred never to speak of it, especially to her cousins.  Olaf and Thora had been outraged, and a bit angry at Astrid and Ragna's parents to have raised such "irresponsible whores." 

"Come, Helga," said Freydis.  "It is time to return home."  She and Grimhild looked like butchers, but had all the sweetness of little old ladies who enjoyed doing nothing but sitting by the fire cooking for the children.  They spoiled Helga and shielded her come hell or high waters.  

Helga was the darling of the clan.  She was protected by all things bad, and given all things good.  Her nurses fed her, her cousins played with her, and her parents adored her in a way that everyone else obeyed.  She was given everything, and lost nothing.

_976 A.D. (Twelve Years Later…)_

It was that time of year again.  Were raids the only thing Vikings ever thought about?

Pretty much.

Helga had stayed home for the past fifteen years since she was attacked at the age of seven.  Life had not been good to her.  Year after year of boredom crawled by.  Raids came and went, but she never went with them.

Adulthood had been good to her though.  The tender age between child and adult are usually grueling for any normal person. (Don't deny it.) But for Helga, they had somehow managed to work themselves out in her favour.  Her kin often commented on her smooth complexion, or her soft, unmarred hands.

Helga never did work; that was left to the rest of her clan.  Olaf couldn't stand non-magicals doing work for them like they did for most other noble wizarding families.  He always said that he didn't want his family to have to rely on useless, inferior animals.  

Interestingly enough, Olaf didn't have a problem with other families using non-magicals as slaves. In fact, the raids were a common way to capture them.

Ah yes, the raid again.

Olaf was planning a new one.  

The Hufflepuff clan often raided Scotland, or sometimes Ireland, but it was rare for them to go to southern England.  This time, however, Olaf was interested in the Anglo wizards.  They were more oppressed than any others in recent years.  The non-magical forces against magic were building up, and the areas around London and Birmingham had a dense concentration of non-magical versus magical warfare.

The clan was tense, as they always were before leaving their home.  They resided in a longhouse – an interesting home for a noble, but one that the Hufflepuff clan liked. It drew less attention to their magical status to the non-magicals in the area.  Also, with a little bit of magic, you could make anything seem cozy and rich.    

"I have just sent an owl to carry the letter to Olivier," informed Olaf.  He stepped into the longhouse and sat by his wife and daughter who had both been eating their morning meals.  

"Ah, we will be visiting the south this time?" Thora smiled as nostalgic memories glazed over her eyes.  "I remember when we went last time.  Myriam was a very lovely woman; we have much in common.  Why, I believe their son is almost exactly your age, Helga," she said, jostling her daughter to attention.

"Pardon me?"

"Olivier and Myriam's son," Thora repeated.  "He is almost exactly your age."  She furrowed her eyebrows, deep in thought.  "You know, it _is_ almost time for you to be finding a suitable husband.  What if…?"  Olaf nodded in approval.

"No, Mother," said Helga firmly.  "I am perfectly capable of finding one myself.  I am not a child anymore; I am an adult."

"I was just trying to say-"

"If you want me to marry someone that desperately, why don't you marry me to Cousin Hjalti?"  She set her bowl down on the wooden table so that it thudded resiliently.

"Because your cousin Hjalti is from _our_ family," said Thora coldly.  "We wouldn't gain anything."

Helga looked into her mother's icy eyes.  Her mouth made the actions to speak, but there was no voice.

Thora turned away from her daughter's stare, as if to brush Helga away carelessly like dirt on a dress.  She proceeded to talk to Olaf as if they had never stopped their previous conversation.  

"When will we leave?"

"In about a week's time."  Wizards took less time to prepare a journey, especially for raids.  Swing an ax over your shoulder, stick on your helmet and away you go.  And kill rabbits along the way for food. Preferably with your ax.

Thora frowned.  "Are you sure that will be enough time?  We have much to do."  

If wizards took less time to prepare for a journey, witches snapped up the extra time for themselves.  Some characteristics of a woman's ways never changed, not even in hundreds of years.

"It will be sufficient," replied Olaf.  "Helga, why don't you join us this time?"

Helga raised her head to stare at her father.  Thora did the same.  One pair of eyes danced with delight while the other glared.

Olaf waved his hand at Thora, dismissing her look.  "It's time you joined us again.  You're old enough to look after yourself. And we've taught you incantations that will be of use to you if you ever get into trouble again.  I'm sure they will come in handy one day, even if you are not in trouble."  He grinned at her.

She smiled back.  "I am sure I will find some use for them."

In a stiff voice, Thora spoke again.  "You will do your father and I proud, Helga."

Looking into Thora's eyes, Helga couldn't help but shiver at the prospect of coming across non-magicals once again.

"I asked them to recruit some wizards in the area and have them gather when we arrive.  A big feast will be held in our honour, I'm assuming," Olaf mused.  He picked up an ax lying on the ground and hefted it in his hand.  "I am sure everyone will participate."

*     *     *

Helga sat with her cousin, Svala, on the straw bed.  The two women often climbed into the overhanging loft to talk late at night, which was what they were doing presently.  Helga eased herself into the soft straw and laid the back of her hand onto her forehead.

"Svala?" she whispered.

"Hmm?"  Svala lay with her eyes closed, her pale hair shimmering in the firelight.

"I'm confused."

Though Svala's eyes were closed, Helga could almost see her rolling her eyes.  "What is it this time?"

Helga ignored the sarcastic tone.  "I've been wanting to join my family since that last time I went on the raid.  But now that I can, I'm not very excited about. Just… indifferent."

Svala turned her head so she could see Helga.  "You're older now.  You're not a child anymore; you're a woman.  People change, Helga."

"I know." Helga frowned.  "But I thought I'd be more excited.  I mean, here's my chance!   I've lived with the consequences for so long now.  This is my chance to take my revenge.  And in about a week, I can finally do it.  But why am I not feeling anything?"  She waved about her hand in the air in frustration.

"You will," mumbled Svala sleepily.  "Trust me, you will."  Her tranquil face took on a slight smile as she thought of raids long past.  Helga felt a small pang of envy at her cousin, who was able to join the rest of the family on their voyages.

Not only did Helga come from a wizarding family, she came from a warrior family; it was in her blood.  Unknown to the actual Hufflepuff clan, there was rumour in the wizarding world that they were descendants of the _Viðurr_.  It wasn't far from truth.  

_(One Week Later…)_

"Helga, look!" Svala clutched her cousin's arm excitedly.  "We have arrived!"

Britain's coast stretched before them, a vast landscape of opportunity and desire.  The ocean glittered temptingly at them, waiting for the ship to land at the sea line.  The green land was like nothing Helga had seen before.  She was used to cold snow and stark landscape.  This was inviting and playful, though what the wizards thought of as 'playful' might not have gone over entirely too well with the non-magicals.

Helga was reminded of her first raid, her only raid.  The opportunity had turned into fear and hatred.  She felt like the wind today.  

Rough and strong, she was ready to fight. 

Silent and invisible, she was ready to hide.

Helga protectively stroked the wand she had holstered into her robes.  Those years ago, when she had been attacked, she had no protection.  This time, she would be ready.  She had learned the spells, and she knew how to throw off enemies.  She wouldn't have to rely on little girls again this time, because she wasn't one anymore.  

Wizard and warrior, she was ready to kill.

There was a slight thud as the massive ship docked at the wizarding harbour.  Shouts and cries sounded out from the wizards on land and on the upper deck.  The wooden plank was lowered for the Viking wizards to descend.  

Olaf waved Helga over, who detached herself from Svala's excited grip.  He bent down to whisper in her ear, "We must go first, my dear.  We _are_ the leaders."

Olaf paused so that the talking died down, then walked down the plank, every bit of his body commanding and powerful.  Trailing behind were Helga and Thora, then his right-hand man, Thorvald.  Finally, the rest of the passengers and crew began to disembark.

"The castle is just beyond that hill," said a wizard who worked at the port.  He pointed to a small hill in the distance.  "Just walk –"

Olaf waved a dismissive hand.  "We've been here before."  He walked forward, ignoring the stammering apologies of the other wizard.  

One of Helga's younger cousins came to the front of the line with three tame horses in tow.  "Here you are, Uncle."

Olaf seized the reins and handed over two of the horses to Helga and Thora.  The three of them mounted with ease, then the traveling party set off toward the hill.  

They rode slowly to the castle so the hikers could keep up with their carts and supplies.  Finally, Nædrehus came into view.  It was more exquisite than anything Helga had even seen.  

The longhouses back home were large, but they were rather simple.  They didn't compare to a castle.  Nædrehus looked almost like a small fortress.

Still, the inhabitants of Nædrehus were inferior to the Hufflepuff clan.  It was a matter of power, not wealth.

As they approached the gate, Helga saw wizards poke their heads out of the narrow windows, or extend their arms to wave their hats like flags.  Norse wizards didn't have hats. They had helmets.

The riders dismounted their horses and handed them over to a stablehand who was waiting for them near the gate.  He stammered a greeting as he took the reins from Olaf's rough hand.

Two soldier wizards stood aside at the gate as the clan made their way into Nædrehus.  From the outdoors, it had looked overwhelmingly large.  Indoors was much different.  There was a looming hall of grey slate stone when they stepped inside, but small doorframes led off into dark corridors in every direction.  Wizards and witches of all ages appeared from the hallways to see the traveling company.  

A tall wizard with light hair and a light beard strode confidently into the hall.  "Olaf! Thora!"

Olaf and Thora turned from the chattering crowd to see the man who had called them.

"Olivier!"  Olaf clapped a hand on his shoulder.  "You have met my wife already."  He gestured to Thora as a woman walked up to stand by Olivier.  "But this is my daughter, Helga.  Helga, this is Olivier and his wife, Myriam."

"Helga, it is wonderful to finally meet you at last," said Olivier.  "We have heard much about you. I know my son is very eager to meet you as well.  He was pleased when he heard the _entire_ clan would be coming here."  Olivier winked at her slyly, making sure she caught his undertone about his son. 

Helga tried to give a slight smile, but her nerves had overtook her bodily functions and all that showed was an eery uplift of her mouth.  She hadn't had much experience with men.

Myriam gave her a concerned look.  "Are you alright, dear? You seem ill."

And she did look ill.  Her face was pale and her hands shook slightly as she tried to brush a few strands of dark hair away from her face.  She was unused to the sun and the walking, and the short journey had tired her out.  But she was strong, for heaven's sake.  A warrior!  But even warriors have their shameful moments. 

"Would you like to lie down?  We can show you to your room right away.  You must be rested for tonight."  If Helga didn't know that Myriam was so against non-magicals, she would have seemed almost like innocent mother.

"Yes," answered Helga.  "I would like to be taken to my room please."  When she looked at her father, he briefly glared at her and her request to excuse herself.

"Come with me then.  I will have our servants bring up your belongings later."  Myriam's pretense at being a caring hostess was well put on.  Helga could see that Myriam wanted to seem the superior one, so kindly offering her hospitality to those wizards in need.

"I will come as well," said Thora.  "I could use a bit of a rest myself."

"We will see you later at the raid," Myriam told Olivier and Olaf.  She began to walk off, then held up her hand and beckoned someone to approach.  Two non-magical servants arrived, and trailed quietly behind the three women.

Thora and Helga followed Myriam through a series of confusing and dizzying dark corridors.  Helga was so used to the vastness and open space of the longhouse back home that she felt choked by the small spaces in Nædrehus.

Finally, they reached a small hall that branched off from a larger one.  "Thora, we will place you and Olaf in here," Myriam said as she gestured into a large room.

Helga caught a peek at the riches that lay within: the light pixies, the Doxy, the… Was that a statue of a Swedish Short-Snout? Yes, there was the silvery-blue skin and the classic snout.  Helga had an almost unhealthy dragon obsession.

"It will do," said Thora.  Neither she nor Olaf liked to admit the simple life of their clan.

"And here is where you will be staying, Helga."  Myriam showed them a smaller room that was just as decorated.

Helga sat herself gently on the bed, then slowly laid down as if to test its strength.  She was used to straw.  Sometimes, she envied the wealth of those British wizards.  Still, nothing compared to being a pure blooded noble.  Power was more important than wealth.

Myriam gestured vaguely in the direction of the two servants.  "You, get her a wet cloth."  One of them scurried out of the room for a few moments, then returned quickly with a damp cloth that Helga used to wipe her face.

The two older women chatted about unimportant things as Helga tried to rest and regain her strength.  It was mostly talk about the wizarding world – who's who, what's what, and who would be present that night.  Just as Helga thought she couldn't stand it any longer, the door opened and Olaf walked in.  Helga lifted her head slightly as she saw Olivier in the doorframe along with another man, but she couldn't catch a glimpse of his face.  Olaf had closed the door behind him.

"Are you feeling better, daughter?  I hope you will not be too tired for the raid later."  Olaf's voice had a light teasing tone for Myriam's sake, but Helga knew he would be extremely angry if she had come all this way for nothing.

One must keep up the family appearance.

"I will be fine, Father," she replied.  "It must have been the sun.  I am not used to it."

Olaf nodded.  "Good.  Olivier was just about to show me to our bedchambers and then we will go over the plans for later today."

"Olaf, don't strain yourself before tonight," said Thora worriedly.

Olaf simply rolled his eyes and left the room.

After a few moments, Myriam excused herself as well.  "There is still some business to tend to before tonight," she said.  "Must make sure the servants are ready.  Helga, I do hope you feel better.  My son is looking forward to meeting you."

Myriam left before Helga could say anything, with her servants trailing behind, which was lucky because Helga had desperately wanted to say something rude.  Possibly about how she wanted nothing to do with her son.

When they were alone, Thora immediately began to berate her daughter.  "How could you _do_ that?"

"Do what?"

"You know perfectly well what I am referring to! Why didn't you stay behind to meet their son? It was the perfect opportunity."  Thora's dark eyes were like stormclouds over an empty valley, and she blazed with anger.  "Make sure you don't upset your father later and do something stupid tonight.  We are of pure wizard and warrior blood, Helga, and don't forget what that means.  We are superior."

Helga sat silent through her mother's tirade with a stony face.  Pure blood, warrior, superiority… Well, she already knew about _that_.

"Mother, I just wanted to rest for tonight.  Do you really think I would have impressed their son if I was pale-faced and shaking?"

Thora glared at her daughter for lack of a better retort.  "Behave yourself tonight," she said finally.  She left the room, and Helga was alone.

*     *     *

Helga stood at the head of the crowd, watching her father seize control of attention.  He was a commanding figure at the head of a crowd of followers, and any person within viewing distance could see that he was made to be a leader.  

Personally, she had never thought of him as such a figure.  He was her father.  He couldn't command her, though he often tried.  It was like that in many families.  Helga's was no different.  And, she enjoyed standing up for herself.  Who shouldn't?  It's the witty comments and the sarcastic retorts that make the world go round.

Finally, Olaf finished his speech for the crowd, which mostly consisted of yelling and waving his wand in the air.  "_For magicals everywhere_!"

Helga felt herself being pushed forward with the crowd as they moved in one conglomeration.  She wore a heavy brown cloak and immediately began to regret her decision to do so.  It weighed down on her and she had to struggle to run.  But this was her favourite robe.  It had the secret pockets, the wand holster, and it was best of all warm.

It was a long walk to the village.  The first time Helga had seen a non-magical village, it was dirty and ugly.  But this time, she knew there would be wizards living within that village.  Would the wizards join in on the raid? Or would they simply run away?  And how they must feel to have their homes being burned by those like them.  

Helga preferred not to think about things like that.  Politics and trivial matters made her head hurt.

When the village came into sight, a massive roar arose from among the wizards.  It was time to steal, capture, plunder and in some cases, kill.  The excited crowd jostled past Helga and forward into the village, lighting their wands as they went.  Some of the more exuberant Norsemen were carrying axes, while a few local wizards had sheathed swords.  Nothing was more satisfying than the blood of a victim staining your hands.  Some thought it was more personal than killing curses.

Helga stood, appalled, at the wizards who had rushed into the village.  Right away, streams and jets of fire shot out from wands and lighted homes.  The villagers had seen the wizards approaching and had tried to set up some form of defence in the means of silly townsmen with weak weapons.  They went down easily.

Someone jostled her from behind.  It was Svala.

"Helga?"  Her voice was excited, and she was breathing heavily as she clutched her wand.  "Why aren't you fighting? Are you scared?"  The million galleon question.

Helga drew herself up to her full height, which was easily much taller than Svala.  "I am _not_ scared."

"I'm sure you're not."  Svala grinned and ran forward in the throng of wizards and non-magicals.

Helga looked around in desperate measure, then finally plunged forward herself.  

Chaos reigned in this swarm of fighters.  The sleepy countryside village was torn, and Helga had helped the destroyers.  

Wands and light and swords and axes clashed in a fury of unleashed anger.  In the midst of them stood Helga, almost helpless.  In an almost holy reverie, she waited, but for what, she didn't know.  Then she slammed back into reality as she was hit from behind.  

Expecting an axe to split her head, what she encountered was just a really big stick.  A wooden lance had knocked her on the side of her head, and she was angry.

Helga's chest heaved in fury and she roared as she unleashed a hex upon her attacker.  

"_Incendia!_" she cried, and she felt the rage of her power pour itself into the core of her wand and burst out in a jet of flames.

Flames licked and burned the man's body, and he stumbled back in surprise at being lit afire.

The screams he let loose were screams that Helga would remember for the rest of her life.  It wasn't so much the shrieks of pain, it was that she had caused them.  

Her heart raced as she watched the man die, but she was quickly torn away from him as she was being attacked again.  

From that moment on, Helga had no time to think about consequences or moralities.  She unleashed Hell's fire from her wand with no limits, and felt warrior's blood course through her veins as she killed again and again.

*     *     *

"Excellent job, Helga."  Olaf clapped a strong hand onto Helga's shoulder.  She stood still, as if in a trance, staring at her hands.  The looked cleaned, but felt stained with blood.

"I have never seen better from a young woman myself," remarked Thorvald.  

The crowd of wizards and witches stood, watching the burning village go up in flames.  Helga had helped them set fire to the village. She had started it.

Non-magical prisoners who hadn't escaped or died were being carted off, back to Nædrehus.  

"We still have much time before we need to return," said Thora.  

A local wizard spoke up; Helga remembered his name as being Hugh of the Ravenclaw.  "There is a wizard's market not far from here.  They sell all sorts of wizarding supplies.  You may go have a look if you like, but I will return to Nædrehus."

Olaf quirked an eyebrow at Thora and Helga.  "Shall we?"

Thora nodded in affirmation, but Helga stayed silent.  She could still hear the screams.

"Come," cried Olaf.  "We will go celebrate there and tell the others how we have done. Some of them have already left, I believe.  We'll let the others take the non-magicals back to the Nædrehus."

"We need to stock up on supplies anyway," agreed Thora.

"There should be an empty stall in the regular market," said Hugh.  "Just go inside and the wizard's market will appear behind the non-magical one."

Many of the company began to move toward the market in the valley that Hugh pointed out, and the rest began to head back to the castle, ready to rest after a day's fight.

Helga walked in a stiff manner, partly in shock.  She still ignored the wizards around her.  Svala jogged up to Helga and shook her shoulder.  "Helga, are you alright? You seem worried."

Helga lifted her head to look at Svala, who reeled away in surprise.  Helga's normally strong dark eyes were dull and weak.  She gave Svala a brief glance, then turned away again without saying a word.

Svala began to speak. "You know, during  the raid, I was saved by a very handsome wizard.  His name was Leon. He told me his two cousins were looking forward to meeting you."

Helga either didn't hear her or chose to ignore her.  Svala sighed.

They walked together in silence among the joyful wizards.  

As they approached the non-magical market, Olaf stopped the walking company.  "Shall we take these filth as well?"

"No," said Helga, surprising herself and those around her.  She hadn't meant to blurt it out.  Olaf frowned at her, waiting for an explanation.  "We mustn't destroy any more of their society than we have already.  They will grow even more angry."

Olaf gave her a disbelieving look.

"Also," she continued, "the wizarding market is right by them.  We may hurt those of our kind."  

Olaf nodded in consent.  "That's a good point you bring up.  Alright, we will enter quietly and calmly."  The rest of the wizards and witches nodded in consent, though some in particular looked disappointed.

The wizarding market was something new to Helga.  There weren't any in her homeland.  Where she came from, there were trader wizards, who travelled the cold lands with their goods and traded as they came upon small wizarding families and villages.  

Helga and Svala particularly enjoyed looking at the hats and robes and cloaks.  Typical women, always concerned about their appearances.  Helga, however, had her own headstrong appearance to give her beauty.

A vendor with a bright yellow hat and yellow and black robes called the two women over.  "May I interest you in some fine cloaks and hats, ladies? I see you are not from here. Perhaps you would like a reminder of your travels for when you go home?"  

Svala smiled politely at him.  "No thank you, sir.  We would just like to take a look, if you don't mind."

The vendor lost his interest in them as they fingered the fine garments carefully.  Svala whispered in Helga's ear, "These are so _bright_.  How can they wear these?"

Helga shrugged, still not speaking.

"Fine," huffed Svala.  "I am trying to make you feel better but you obviously do not want to."  She stormed off and another wizard intercepted her, taking her arm.  It was probably Leon, the handsome wizard she had mentioned earlier.

Helga gently set down the bright purple cloak had she had been looking at, and walked behind some empty stalls.  She leaned near the wall, letting out a breath, and slid down to the hard dirt.  Then she did something she had not done since she was a little girl.  She cried.

_Was revenge supposed to be this painful?_

Heavy sobs wracked her body and she shook helplessly.  She had no idea how long she stayed there, but it wasn't too long before she was jolted abruptly.  

"Helga, what in _Viðurr's_ name are you doing?"  Olaf's voice was like a mighty growl.  "What are you _doing_?"  

"Father, no, please."  She gulped air heavily as he grabbed her arm in a painful grip.  He pulled her off the ground roughly.  

"What's got you so upset, girl?  I know there's something wrong. _Tell me_."  He towered above her like an eagle to a mouse.

"Please, Father," she begged.

He tried to shove her to the wall, to make her spill the truth, but she broke away from his grasp and ran as fast as she could.  The only person who could make her afraid was her father.

"HELGA!" he roared.  But he did not chase her.  He would hunt later.

She bumped into the people along the way out of the market, and crashed into the seller with the yellow hat.  "Slow down there, are you alright?"

Tears stung her eyes again as she stood. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, dear.  Here, come this way."   He led her back to the stall and the hats she had been admiring earlier.

"Here you are," he said, holding out a mug.  She took a few sips of water, and handed it back to the man gratefully.  

"Now, what has gotten you so upset?"

"Oh, nothing really."  Even to herself she sounded fake.  But the man knew not to press further.

Helga stayed at his stall for a little while longer, but still looked over her shoulder often to check if Olaf was coming.  To thank the man for his kindness, she bought a wizard's hat from him.  It was large, and fitted a bit too big on her head, but she liked it nonetheless.  

"A wizard sold it to me just now, you know.  He claims it has been charmed to give the wearer good luck."

"I sure hope so," said Helga.  She put it on her head and jauntily pushed it a bit to the side.  "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

She set off again, away from the market, away from wherever her father was.

The sun was beginning to set, and the air stilled into quietness as she traveled back to Nædrehus.  Her new hat kept her head warm, and she rubbed her hands together to keep them warm.

Someone crashed into her.

To top the day off, adding to the raiding, the killing, and the crying, she was attacked _again_.  Would pain never cease?

She cried in surprise at the oncoming attacker, but with the sinking light it was hard to see.  It was obvious though; they had seen her hat and knew what she was.

She pulled out her wand in reflex and hexed them with the first thing that came into her mind.    
  


"_Avrakedavra_!"  Oh, why must that spell be the first one to come to mind?

A jet of green light shot from her wand and hit her attacker with harsh force.  He stumbled back and collapsed to the ground, limp and unconscious.  

"No!" she cried.  "No, no, no…"  She fell to ground beside the man, and raised her wand.  "_Spirivo_!"  A white light spurted out and hovered above the man's chest.  It glowed faintly; the man was still alive.

Relieved he was not dead, Helga pushed herself away and began to run again.  Her hat fell over her eyes and she grabbed it in fury and threw it as hard as she could into the bushes.

She heard it hit a tree with a satisfying thump and she ran harder as Nædrehus came into view.

*     *     *

"Helga?"

Helga raised her head sleepily and looked into the doorway of her bedchambers.  She was wrapped in blankets and had been napping; her dreams and nightmares had plagued her sleep endlessly.

"My name is Aline.  May I come in?"  Without waiting for an answer, the tall brown-haired witch came into the room and sat on a chair by Helga's bed.

"I have heard you were feeling ill earlier today and I simply wanted to make sure you are feeling better.  Was the raid hard on you?"

Helga stared disbelievingly at this woman who had so rudely interrupted Helga's reverie.

"It was harder than you think," she replied stiffly.

"I chose not to go," said Aline carelessly.  "I have done my fair share of pillaging the non-magicals.  And I was tired today."

"I'm sorry," began Helga, "but do I know you?"

Aline gave Helga an amused glance, then burst out in a peal of laughter.  "I am a niece to Olivier and Myriam," she replied.  "They asked me to check in on you and take you down to the feast."

"Oh, I see.  Yes, I am feeling fine."  That was far from the truth.

"Aline!"  A young man poked his head into Helga's bedchambers.  She considered charming the door so she could at least have a bit of privacy.

"What is it, David?" Aline asked irritably.

"We have a problem."  David glanced in Helga's direction nervously.  "A woman has been captured.  She's a non-magical, but she claims to be a witch.  She has a letter, and it's signed by Hugh.  She claims to be his daughter."

"Hugh's daughter? But… she's dead."

David shook his head.  "Apparently not."

"Well, what do you want me for? Go tell Salazar."

"I already did, he wanted me to come get you.  He thought it would be better if you helped her prepare for the feast instead of me."  David grinned ruefully.  "Women's business, you know."

Aline sighed with great annoyance.  "Alright. I will help."  She turned to Helga, still laying on her bed.  "I apologize, Helga.  I trust you should be able to find your way.  Just ask a servant if you are lost.  I will see you soon."

She rose from the bed and joined David at the door, and the two of them disappeared.

Helga sighed thankfully, and pulled her blanket tighter around her.

Not even a moment passed before the door crashed open and someone else strode in.  Helga's eyes widened as Olaf made his way toward her, and she struggled to break free of the blankets.

"You are in serious trouble, naïve Helga."  His voice was deadly as she pulled herself out of bed.

She stood tall to face her father, knowing she could not run away this time.

"Why?  I didn't do anything wrong."

Olaf's face twisted into an ugly mirror of anger.  "Do you think I can't see?  I know you regret what you did today.  But you cannot.  It is in our blood, Helga.  We are the destroyers of the non-magical race; we are meant to be."

She bit her lip to keep herself from spitting out a retort.  Her father had never tolerated her abrupt manner.  She kept silent, knowing what came next.

He raised his hand and hit her.  Hard.  The sudden blow to her cheek knocked her to the ground.

She didn't cry.  She had cried the first time Olaf had struck her, but never again.  Helga learned from her mistakes.

"Prepare for the feast.  Thora and I will take you down ourselves.  Now."  He strode out of the room and didn't look back, but she heard him and Thora speaking softly in the hall.

She tenderly stroked her cheek, wincing at the sudden stinging.

She wished she could stop the pain and the anger that flowed through her every time her father hurt her.  She was a woman, not a girl.  She deserved better.

She took out a jewelled necklace from a wooden box on her bed table and clasped it around her neck.  She took a comb of sharp fish teeth and ran it through her hair to take out the tangles that had appeared from that day's activities.

She stared into the small mirror that stood on the table and inspected her face carefully.  A faint bruise was beginning to appear.  

Helga's servants had made a dress especially for this feast.  It was light yellow and white, and greatly contrasted her dark hair.  

She slipped out of her dressing gown and pulled the silky dress over her head.  Then she took the bangles and bracelets that she had brought with her and slipped them on her wrists.

There was one thing left – her hair.  She often put them into tight plaits, but she never actually learned how to braid her own hair.

Helga stepped over to the door and carefully peered out.

"Are you finished yet?" Olaf asked in annoyance.

"Almost.  Mother, will you help me with my hair?"

Thora and Olaf shared a brief glance, and Thora walked into the room behind Helga.

She braided her daughter's hair quickly with the skill that only a mother had.  It was only a matter of moments before she finished.  "There."  Thora patted Helga's head affectionately, in a fashion that Helga didn't deem 'affectionate' at all.

Helga took one last look in the mirror.  She had always prided herself on being able to look the way she did without charms.  She knew it was a petty sort of pride, but she was glad she had it.

The two women exited the room, and Olaf led them to the feast hall.  Like everything else she had experienced on this voyage, she was surprised by sheer intensity of those at the feast.

It was warm, and hard to breathe in an area with so many people.

The witches and wizards here dressed differently, Helga had noticed.  They wore brighter colours and were bolder in their choice of attire.  Helga's own yellow and white dress had seemed so grand once she had put it on, but she discovered that here, she did not stand out at all.

The dancing and singing wizards looked like they were having so much fun, making Helga even more withdrawn.  

"Olaf, glad to see you are finally here," said Olivier, stepping up to them with Myriam on his arm.  

"Helga, I am so glad you could attend the feast.  You can finally meet our son," said Myriam kindly.

Helga tried to smile but she couldn't help but feel exasperated.  Would they ever cease?

"Speaking of our son, Salazar isn't here yet."  Olivier scanned the crowd, his frown growing deeper as he tried to pick out his son.

"He will come soon," said Myriam.  "I was just talking to him recently…"

But Olivier had already walked off, spotting something that caught his attention.

When he returned, he had a light-haired wizard in tow.

"He is here at least," Olivier said cheerfully.  Finally, it was the moment all four elder wizards had been waiting for.  

"Wonderful!" said Olivier.  He and Thora exchanged a proud glance before he said, "Salazar, we would like you to meet our daughter, Helga."

Helga had been staring at Salazar since he arrived with Olivier, and she looked away hastily as he turned his glance to her.

He had light hair and greyish eyes that made him seem playful and happy.  He had a sprinkle of freckles and he looked so youthful that she couldn't help but admire him.  Though he was tall, Helga noticed that she was taller still, but just slightly.

Salazar wore a dark green cloak and clothing that echoed the wealth of the Slytherin family.  As his eyes grazed over her, she gave him a look that she hoped didn't show her newfound feelings of admiration.

He frowned a bit; Helga knew he was wondering about the bruise on her cheek.  She began to grow pink with embarrassment, wishing she had charmed herself to look normal.

She nodded acknowledgement at her parents' introduction but otherwise didn't say a word.

His face took on a very faint grin as he quirked his eyebrow at her.  "Enchanted to finally meet your acquaintance," he said, exaggerating a low bow.  

He took her hand and kissed it lightly, sending shivers up her spine.  She couldn't help but smile, though she didn't feel as happy as she wished.  Thora was staring at her, and Helga could almost see her trying to will Helga into an impressing speech about how wonderful it was to finally meet Salazar, how handsome he was, how she wished they would come to know each other well…

"It is… enchanting to meet you as well," she replied.  She dropped into a slight curtsey and hoped her parents would not catch the mischievous glint in her eye.

"Let us leave the young ones to talk, eh?" asked Olaf.  _Oh no.  Alone?_  "I am sure they will not be interested in our political talk."

The four elders walked away, each one secretly thrilled that Salazar and Helga were finally together.  The Hufflepuffs wanted wealth; the Slytherins wanted status.

The two young adults stood in awkward silence for a moment.  Helga desperately wished she could think of something to say.  Yes, she was strong, but she wasn't too experienced in matters of… _this_.

"Well," Salazar began.  A slight pause.  "Would you like to dance?"

Helga's dark eyes surveyed him critically.  She looked around, trying to seek an answer to how she should act.

"Alright," she replied hesitantly.  She took his outstretched hand and he led her into the massive crowd of celebrating wizards.  His hand felt rough in her own, and she felt a wave of heat as his arm circled her waist.  Out of excitement or out of atmosphere, she didn't know.

She wished she knew of something to say, anything.  An excuse for her cheek, a compliment on his robes, or even something about the wonderful weather they were having.  But thoughts of Olaf, spells, and death were still sitting in her mind.  And her horrid dress was so plain compared to all the other women's.  The women who passed her by with their blue and purple and red robes frowned at her almost tasteless yellow one.  

Salazar must have sensed her uneasiness, because he suddenly grinned at her as he twirled her on the floor.

"Don't worry," he said, soothingly.  He twirled her around again so her dress billowed out in waves of silk.  "You're here with the best-looking man in the room."

~ * ~

All aboard the S.S. Slither and Puff!  Isn't it wonderful?  The Salazar/Helga balance may be offset soon, but we can enjoy it while it lasts… You'll have to wait and see.

Thanks to Michael for the beta-read. She rocks! (And to my other betas… Isn't real life stressful? Maybe next time around. Email accidents, moving house, school work…RL will calm down soon, you'll see.)

Chapter Four is on the way, and it doesn't take a whole lot of brainpower to figure out who it is. J One more chapter until the threads weave together.  Seereth, the Opposite Founders Idea Creator Who I Stole/Requested This Plot Bunny From, gets a cameo!  She was also the first to spot the QTTA reference, and the closest one to what I was going for. QTTA mentions three wizards who dismount their brooms with looks of extreme discomfort on their faces. Guess who they were in this fic. J

Thanks to everyone who reviewed at the Atlantis list – you guys siriusly rule.  And to my fellow Atlantean authors – the "leaders, duchesses, sultanas…" – you are all amazing.  We're gaining more and more members each day. How cool are _we_?

Thanks everyone, you make writing this story worth it.


	4. Stone

Title: Shades of Grey (Chapter Four: Stone)

Author Name: Gemini

Author Email: castorandpollux84@hotmail.com

House: Schnoogle

Category: A bit of everything…

Keywords: Founders, Godric, Helga, Rowena, Salazar

Spoilers: Being familiar with all four HP books would be a good idea.

Rating: PG-13 to R

Summary: The fourth Founder is born. The hat reappears, the black and white have roles, and someone falls in love with the woman from his dreams. Literally.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: See Chapter One for a complete overview of the "Opposites" idea.  But if you forget and you're too lazy to click on the links…

- This story poses the question of what would happen if the Founders Four weren't really what their house stood for.  Idea is courtesy of _Seereth_.

- The spell names in this story will be altered, as I thought it'd make sense if the names evolved over time, like languages do.

- If you spot any inaccuracies with the time period, please let me know so I can either correct it, or keep it in mind for the next chapter.  A.L. Milton and Fearthainn were kind enough to provide me with help, but I'm only a high school senior and I can't research everything. ;) I've chosen to keep our modern day language (to an extent) to stay simple.

- Credits and more notes are at the end of the chapter.

And here we continue…

Chapter Four: Stone

By Gemini

Up the lurid passes of dreams that kill, 

_Through the twisting maze of the great Untrue,_

_The lion followeth the fainting will –_

_And the Lamb – He followeth too._

_An excerpt from "The Hunters", by Ruth Temple Lindsay_

~ * ~

_956 A.D._

The last Founder has arrived bringing with him the beginning of a new age.  He completed the set of the four strongest witches and wizards to ever live.

This one was not born in a glittering glen, a dark fen, or an icy valley.  This one was born in the wild moors of England where the wolves roamed, where the Golden Snitch flew, and where the young mischief-makers played.

There was one in particular, and his name was Gavin.  Gavin was about to become a brother.  He listened to his mother, Madeleine, scream in the pain of labour.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about this birthing: no complications, no deaths involved, nothing.  It was normal, and Madeleine gave birth to a healthy child.

Or so it seemed to the untrained eye.  After the baby was born, Madeleine knew there was something significant about this birth.  She had birthed other children before, but they all died at young ages from sickness and under nourishment.  Gavin was the only one who survived, and he was now a seven-year-old boy who demanded constant attention and care.  

He was a typical little boy.  He played with slugs and snakes, pretended he was king's soldier, and jumped off little cliffs hoping that one day he would fly instead of falling on his face.  Having another sibling meant that soon, Gavin would be able to pass on these traditions, and he desperately hoped it would be a boy.  A girl wouldn't be any fun at all.

He was pleased beyond anything that he would become a brother.  He couldn't wait to see the baby.  He and his father would talk for hours about what they would do once the baby arrived, what they would do if it was a boy, and what they would do if it was a girl.  They were planning to act pleased to Madeleine, but secretly fume behind her back.

During the birth, Gavin's father, Andrew, sat by Madeleine's side and offered his hand for her to squeeze.  She did so, hard.  Gavin looked on in bemusement.  Why was his mother hurting so much? Giving birth shouldn't be _that_ hard.  

He was bored now.  He needed something fun to happen.  "Mum, what are you doing?" She ignored him, screaming with another gasp of pain.  

"Gavin, your mother is a bit busy right now – ahh!" Madeleine had clenched Andrew's hand in a deathly grip.

Gavin decided that his parents weren't being interesting enough, so he wandered off into the night to see what he could find to entertain himself.  The frog spawn he had found yesterday hadn't quite been poked to his satisfaction. He had left a few hours ago, and now his father was calling him back.

"Gavin!" Andrew called. Gavin ignored him.  His parents usually liked to make sure he was safe, but he was now, so what was the point of answering?

"Gavin, come see your new brother!"  _A brother_?  

So his wish came true after all.  Gavin turned and ran home.

*   *   *

_"…of the Ravenclaw."_

_Eagles shimmered in a grey sky that he knew was supposed to be blue.  Circling and crying out, they spiralled toward the ground in a clumsy dance, never to fly again. And with them, a body fell._

_Grey eyes bore down on him in a feeling of regret and pain. "This wasn't supposed to happen, you know. I meant to stop it, but I couldn't." They turned accusatory. "You were supposed to help me. You didn't."_

_And then there was her, the woman who haunted all his dreams.  Her black hair swirled in a silky darkness, without light to guide him. But he knew she was there.  He shivered as she moved away, growing so cold he felt as if he would freeze to death._

_It was never supposed to be like this._

*     *     *

_964 A.D. (Eight Years Later…)_

"Godric, that's pathetic.  I can throw mine further than that, watch."  Gavin dug around in the rocky beach to look for a small flat stone that suited his need.  He finally found one, hefted it up, and with clear skill that came from sheer practise, pitched it into the calm sea.  It leapt in, light as a feather across the water.

"See? Eight times, and you could only get five," Gavin smirked. 

Godric frowned, and searched for another flat stone.  He concentrated, then threw it into the water.  "Six times," he said proudly.

"You're getting better." Gavin put a hand up to shield the sun from his eyes.  "One day, you might even beat me. But not yet."  He picked up another stone and threw it, but it promptly sank as it hit the water.  

Godric laughed at his older brother. Though there was a considerable age distance – Godric was a small child while Gavin was growing into manhood – they still got along well.

"Let's head back, Gavin," said Godric.  "Mam might be worried about us."

"Who cares about Mam? We're having fun; don't you want to stay?"

Godric was torn between staying with Gavin or watching his mother berate them for straying too far.  In one hand, you could throw rocks into the water, and in the other hand, you could face an angry woman.  The image of an angry mother could bring fear to any man's heart.

"Let's stay."

"Good choice." They sat by the sea as long as they could, waiting idly for the sun to go down before returning home.  Godric copied Gavin's position and laid down on his back, wincing as rocks jabbed his body.

"Gavin, do you really think people live in the clouds?"

"Who told you that?"

"Pa did.  He said anyone who was good could go live in the clouds."

"Why would he tell you a thing like that?"

"He said that that's what some non-magicals believe."

"That's shite, Godric, especially if the non-magicals believe it."

"I think it sounds fun."

"Living in the clouds sounds like fun?"

"Why not?"

"What if it rains?"

There was a quiet that settled in as Godric searched for an answer, but he was interrupted before he could find one.

"Godric! Gavin! Come here!"  One of the village boys stood at the top of the hill, waving to them. 

"Go away, William," yelled Gavin. "Or come over here, because we're not getting up!" Typical children.

"No, come here," William cried again.  "There's a man here, and he's hurt."

Gavin's interest peaked, and he pulled himself to his feet.  "Who is he?"

"How am I supposed to know? I think he's a wizard though."

Godric stood as well, brushing dirt off his trousers, then jogged to catch up with Gavin.

William waited impatiently as they walked over to him.  He was about the same age that Gavin was, perhaps a year or two younger.  He was one of the quiet types, never really engaging in any of the other boys' games.  He stood and watched from the side, enjoying the happiness of others. The words he chose for conversation were carefully thought over and recited, and he always seemed to be in deep thought.

"Where is he?" asked Gavin, taking the lead.

"Just down here," answered William.  "There were some regular boys and then this wizard came, so they stoned him. I don't know why he would dress so obviously as a wizard out here. It's dangerous."  William gestured to his own clothing, and that of Gavin and Godric. They were dressed similarly to what non-magicals wore.

They descended the hillside and Godric saw the blue-robed man laying on the ground, face-down.  The three boys approached cautiously, with Godric trailing.  _What if he was dangerous? What if he was only pretending to be hurt? What if…_

William knelt by the wizard, who didn't move or make a sound.

"Let's flip him over," said Gavin.  He and William pulled on the wizard's robes and turned him over, revealing a face streaked with dried blood, and a cut lip.  His eyes were closed and his body was a dead weight.  William put his hand by the wizard's nose.  

  
"He's breathing," he announced. "But just slightly."

Gavin sighed loudly, then bent down the yell in the wizard's ear. "Helloooo?"

"Gavin, what are you _doing_?" asked William, horrified. 

"Waking him up," he replied crossly.  Whatever he was doing, it worked, because the wizard moaned softly and moved his head.

"What…" He tried to open his eyes, but the dried blood that encrusted his lids prevented him from seeing into the world completely.

"Are you alright, sir?" asked William politely.

"Does he _look_ like he's alright?" 

"You were hit by stones, sir, and were knocked out. Do you know where you are?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." The wizard tried to stand up, but could not without the help of the two boys. Godric stood to the side, silent and watching, but a little afraid.  

After much pushing and prodding, Gavin and William managed to bring the wizard, who was half-unconsciously walking, back to their small village.  They attracted many stares and comments whispered behind hands, but ignored them as they dragged the wizard into the small abode of Godric and Gavin.

"Who the bloody hell is that?" Andrew stood up from tending to the fire as an unconscious man was dragged into his home. 

"We found him near the sea," replied Gavin.  Andrew quickly went to help the two older boys pull him onto the family's bed.  It was small even for the four of them, but still provided at least some comfort. 

Godric went to where his mother stood. Madeleine drew him close and put her arm around him as she questioned the boys.  "Is he alright now? How was he hurt? What happened?"

Gavin explained the situation to his parents with William contributing a comment here and there when Gavin was stumped for information.  "I woke him up for a bit," said Gavin, "but he just fell back asleep."

Wasting no time, Madeleine wet a cloth and began to wipe the blood off the wizard's face with a gentle mother's touch.  With a swiftness upon which her sons and husband could barely keep up with, she cleaned his wounds and applied a salve to them.  With the warm dampness of the cloth, it wasn't long before he woke up. 

"Who are you…?" he mumbled softly.

"We are the Gryffindor family," Madeleine whispered softly.  Andrew and the rest of the boys stood to crowd around behind her as they watched the wizard open his eyes.  William's hazel eyes lit up as the man he helped rescue awoke.

"Can you tell us who you are?" asked Madeleine.

The wizard moaned slightly, shifting in the bed as well as he could without hurting his aching joints.

"My name is Hugh," he replied after a short pause. "Hugh of the Ravenclaw."

_Ravenclaw_. Where had he heard that name before?

*     *     *

_"Please," she whispered. "Please help. I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. Can't you help me?"  She wore tattered blue robes, though they only seemed grey to him. There were no colours when he dreamed. Only grey._

_"I… I can't," he stuttered. "I've made plans already. Sorry."_

_"No," she cried. "Please, help me."  She threw herself upon him, beating at him with her fists. _

_"I can't."_

_"Please," she sobbed. "Please… It was never supposed to be like this."_

*     *     *

_976 A.D. (Twelve Years Later…)_

"Godric, get in here," yelled Madeleine.

Godric had been playing in the dirt road with the small boys of the sleepy countryside village, entertaining them with tricks and games.  He waved to the children who already began disperse, and jogged back to his home where Madeleine stood waiting at the door.  

"You've just received a letter," she told him, handing him a small, rolled up parchment. "An owl came in just now."

She went back inside, probably to finished her cooking or sewing or whatever she did during the day.

Godric broke the seal, noting the messy reddish-brown wax, obviously not stamped with care.  He began to read.

_Godric,_

_Found out some interesting news today.  One of the Nædrehus people came down to my home today; his name was Salazar. He told me about an upcoming raid on the village.  I need to speak with you as soon as possible, but I will not say more here. Meet me tonight, after your family goes to sleep. You know where._

_--William_

Godric re-rolled the parchment, a frown marring his round face.  He stuffed it into one of his pockets and pushed the door open to his home, revealing smells of freshly baked bread.  It was late afternoon, and sundown would be approaching soon.  

William had mentioned a raid.  A wizarding raid? Those never ended well. 

*     *     *

"William, is that you?"  Godric stumbled in the murky darkness until he saw a shadowy shape that he assumed to be his friend.  

"It's me." William faced the sea, letting the cold breeze sift through his hair.  Godric went to stand beside him, and breathed the salty air in deeply.

Nothing compared to seeing the ocean at night in the moonlight.  Milky white light bounced off the waves as they crashed into each other, and the sea stretched endlessly into the starry horizon.

As much as Godric liked it here at night, he came alone as little as possible.  He could easily be attacked by roaming non-magicals.  Accidents could happen, especially in the night when your senses were clouded and the moon played tricks on your mind.

"You mentioned something about raid?" asked Godric, breaking the still silence.  William nodded, the light of the moon making him seem mystical.

"A Viking family has decided to come for a 'visit'," informed William. "And they and the people of Nædrehus are going to do their plundering here in our village."

Godric absorbed the news with a hint of fear.  "And what are we to do about it?"

"Sit back and watch, I suppose," William sighed. Then he looked harshly at Godric. "You won't be _joining_ them, will you? That's the wrong thing to do; you know that."

Godric shook his head. "You know I wouldn't join them. I can't."

"You are able, if you actually wanted to." 

Godric kept silent, and prayed the matter wouldn't be spoken about any further.

"We'll have to relocate, you know," stated William. "And I have a son and wife to take care of."

"Where will you be going?"

"I'll make sure they're out of the village when the raid happens. Perhaps we'll go to the next town over.  You should probably go to the next wizarding village; it will be safer there."

"I think I will," agreed Godric.  But thoughts of wizarding wars danced about in his head.

"Godric…" William hesitated, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to say what came next. "I might need you to help me with moving the village wizards. A lot of them don't want to join, and they're all tired of moving from town to town. We can't afford to stay in one place, and wizarding villages aren't all they're cut up to be. We don't have the proper skills to be farmers like the non-magicals are."

"And what do you need help with?"

Taking a deep breath, William answered. "There's a movement being organized and put together against the raiders as we speak.  The leaders are grouping, and they want wizards and non-magicals to live in peace. It's possible."

"A movement? Against the raiders? But… that's suicide!"

"It's not suicide," replied William harshly. "Not if they don't know who the leaders are, and not if we keep our activities quiet. We're not a violent movement. We're just going to help the wizard villagers, and keep the non-magicals as safe as we can."  He stared at the sea sadly. "They don't deserve this treatment. No one does."

Godric stood in a silent stupor. What was he supposed to do now? If he joined William, he knew he would get caught eventually. The rich wizards were smart; they would figure it out sooner or later. If he didn't join William, he would betray a friend…

"Don't think you have to come with me," said William, interrupting Godric's thoughts. "It will be dangerous. And I can't tell you more unless you commit. We can't give away too much information, you know."

_You've given away too much already. I don't want to know any of this. _

"It's alright," lied Godric. "I… I'll think about." He paused, then followed with, "If Gavin were here…"

"Gavin _isn't_ here," said William harshly.  Then his face softened. "If Gavin were here, he'd know what to do."

Gavin had gone away, to fight the wars he had always wanted to fight. He was a part of the wizards' forces now, fighting in not-so-civil wars. Godric recalled that Gavin had always dreamed of going off to do good, to fight evil, to be a hero… And Godric wanted to go with him, but he couldn't.  He had always been too scared. 

*     *     *

_"You did promise. Didn't you tell them that you would help? And look where it's gotten the both of us."  The grey eyes glared at him, almost threateningly.  "And you were supposed to help me too."_

_As the man walked closer and closer, he spoke softly. "Just because you're the youngest doesn't mean you're any more special than you should be.  I'm not going to pamper you, and I'm not going to give you any sort of special honour. You deserve it just as much as the rest of us, which is not at all."_

_But the grey eyes grew sad, and cast themselves down to look at the grass about their feet.  "It wasn't my fault. Why can't you realize that? Why won't you help me?  It was never supposed to be like this."_

*     *     *

_(One Week Later…)_

So it came down to this after all. 

Godric's parents had already packed up the little belongings they had and began their short move to the next wizarding village. William, of course, had stayed.  

Godric stayed too, but for the wrong reasons. It wasn't to help William, or take part in the raid. It was because he didn't want to go anywhere. He was perfectly happy being rooted in his place of birth.  He wanted to spend as much time here as possible before he was forced to leave.  In a way, he found himself almost hating the other wizards for making him do this, but it couldn't be helped. This was one war that he could not interfere with. He didn't have the power to.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he turned to find himself facing William.  

"Are you ready?" he asked tersely. Godric nodded. "Let's go then."

Taking one last look at the home he was leaving behind, Godric felt a nostalgic saddening as he stepped over the threshold.  

"They've already started," said William. "They're coming into the village now."

If Godric concentrated, he could hear screams from the far end of the little town.  They had just begun.  

"Quick, this way!" He followed William into a little alleyway, where a small group of non-magicals and wizards were huddled close together.

They gathered in a little circle, and as Godric looked at the faces around him, he saw that most of them seemed frightened.

"You all know what to do," began William. "Take as many non-magicals as you can, and don't risk yourselves. We can't have them finding out what we're doing."

As Godric watched William direct the other non-magicals, he couldn't help but realize that he was almost reminded of Gavin.  Ever since Gavin had gone away, William and Godric had grown closer, with William filling part of the void that Gavin had left behind.  

In any case, Godric was glad for some friendship.  Without William, he wasn't sure if he could have handled the dreams that haunted him so often.  His mind would hurt after each one, and he found himself slowly retreating to his subconscious unless someone pulled him out.

The dreams were sometimes the same and sometimes vastly different, but they always involved the same people.  A flaxen-haired woman, a grey-eyed man, and a dark-haired girl who captured his entire attention each time were the focus of his dreams, but sometimes there were others. They were always dark and misty; Godric never really felt safe in them. Something always nagged at the back of his mind.

"Are you all ready?"  Godric nodded along with the rest.  "Let's move out then."

They split up, going in different directions. Godric tagged along with William, who pulled a wand out of his robe pocket.

"Where did you get that?" ask Godric dubiously.

"I've always had it," came the taut reply.

"Well I've never seen it before."

"I thought I'd need it for today," said William.  "So I got it a little while ago when I was preparing."

"Where did you get it from? Ollivanders is so far away, and so expensive."

William did not answer.

They walked out of the alleyway in silence, looking this way and that to make sure there were no wizard followers.  

This was something new to Godric. He had never done anything quite this stealthy, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.  He began to find himself wishing he had gone with his family instead of staying with William.

Godric glanced back into the alleyway, but the others had already gone. He was actually surprised that they would work so well with wizards like he and William, and the others who were just present. These were the ones who wanted to live in peace, something Godric admired greatly but could never hope to achieve.

The screams grew louder, and were coming closer to the centre of the village.  Already, some of the non-magicals in the village were running toward them, uncaring of who William and Godric were. They just wanted to run away.

"This way," said William softly, gesturing to a little cottage house.  When they pushed open the door, the few who were inside cowered against the back wall, clearly expecting the raiding wizards.

"It's alright, we won't hurt you," said William. Godric stood in the background, waiting.  "We're here to help. There are a group of non-magicals and wizards gathering all the villagers we can to keep them safe."

There was just something about him, Godric noted as the non-magicals came forward slowly.  William attracted the trust and loyalty of all.

The small company left the home and stole away to the edge of the village to where some of the non-magicals from the earlier group were waiting.

This went on for awhile as the raiding wizards were busy in another part of town.  Back and forth they went, taking the few non-magicals they could.

Ashes and smoke rose in the air, coming closer and closer as Godric and William saved all they could, which wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

Finally, they were all gathered at the edge of the village as the raiders were in the centre, burning all they could and capturing those who were left.

"Alright, get them to the next village over," ordered William. "Expect me there in a few days, otherwise I'll send an owl with a message."

The little group of wizards and non-magicals made their way quickly down the valley, heading for the village that lay a few miles toward the south.  

Godric and William stood to watch them go, taking care to leave as little tracks as they could.  If anyone found out what they had done… They would be in trouble.

"Hey, you two! What are you doing?"

The two of them froze and didn't turn around.  The raiding wizards had finally found them.

"Who are you?"

"Run!" cried William, and sprinted off. Godric rushed to keep up. They descended into the valley as the other wizard took off after them, and he was joined by one or two others judging from the sound of their footsteps.

The two of them ran fast, making a break for the forests that covered the eastern plain.  "Don't let them catch us!"

They ran through the woods, dodging low branches and underbrush.  Godric could only hear his heavy breath mingled with William's, and the scratchy sounds of the trees and leaves and they rushed past.  He heart pounded in his ears as he ran faster and faster, never daring to look back.

_How did I get dragged into this?_

Godric's thoughts mingled together to concentrate on getting away as he followed William, who weaved lithely through the forest.  

They ran until they were exhausted, and then they ran some more.  William finally slowed down and came to a stop, putting a hand on a tree and leaned over, panting tiredly. Godric did the same, and finally was able to look behind them and watch for any followers. His eyes searched the spaces in the trees, but nothing looked out of place.

"I think we're alright," said William, gasping for breath. 

They collapsed to the ground, backs against trees, and stared into the wilderness.  A smoky stench from the burning village permeated the air, and dark wisps of smoke could be seen through the trees.  They were on the edge of the forest and could see across the little valley on the outside across which the raiders trekked.

The leaves rustled.

"What was that?" Godric sat up in a panicked state, ready for any attackers. 

"Shh, quiet!" William held out a hand to still Godric, and listened with his head tilted.

Someone was running toward them on the edge of the woods.

Together, the two wizards slowly stood and walked stealthily toward the forest's edge and peeked out.  The sun was setting and it was hard to see, but a faint shape was running toward them, fast.

"Get ready," whispered William.

Godric tensed, wishing he were anywhere but here.

The figure came closer, closer…

_…_

_"I told you not to follow me," she hissed.  They stood in the woods, bathed in the silvery moonlight. "It's dangerous out here. Don't get over your cowardly ways by getting yourself killed."_

_Cries of battle sounded out around them as they stood in an ethereal silence._

_"I must go," she said, swiftly turning._

_"No wait!" he cried, taking a step forward. "Let me come too."_

_She paused, not turning back.  "You wouldn't understand how to fix it.  You would never understand how it even works.  It was never supposed to be like this." _

_And she walked on as he watched her._

_…_

Godric froze.  "Now!" roared William, and jumped onto the running silhouette.  

There was a short struggle, but a cry echoed in the dusk a moment later.

"_Avrakedavra_!"  A jet of brilliant green light, and William had fallen.  Godric's eyes widened in the darkness, and he quickly moved behind a tree, not daring to breathe. He peeked out cautiously, and saw a hat on the figure. It was a wizard's hat. But how could…?

"No!" It was a feminine voice, anguished and tortured.  "No, no, no…"  Whoever it was knelt down over William, almost collapsing over his body.  Godric was torn between hiding still and protecting his friend. However, whatever he would come to decide was not known, because the woman pulled out a wand and recited a spell before he could move.

If she had a wand, she must not have come from the village. No one had wands there; they had not the money to pay for it.

"_Spirivo_!"  A white ball of light came out the end of her wand and hovered over William, glowing lightly. He was still alive. 

Godric heard a heavy sigh of relief, and then a ragged cry.  He came out from behind the tree to approach her, though what he would do or say, he didn't know.  But the woman pushed herself away from the ground and began to run, tearing the hat off her head and throwing it behind her. It hit Godric in the face as he backed into a tree with a thump.

He pulled it away, sputtering, but the woman was too far gone now.  He looked at the hat, and stuck it on his own head. Might as well.

Kneeling over William, he shook the limp man gently.  He shouldn't have been too hurt. The _Avrakedavra_ spell simply knocked out the victims for a short time.

William moaned softly, moving his head to the side.  He opened his eyes slowly, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes.

"Godric?" he whispered. "What happened?"

"She attacked you," Godric replied wryly, relieved in knowing that his friend was safe now. "You jumped on her, and she attacked you."

"She?"

"Yes, it was a woman. I couldn't see her though. She ran away too fast."

William furrowed his eyebrows. "What's that?"  Godric looked to where William pointed.

"Oh. It's a hat."

"Where'd you get it?"

"The woman… threw it at me."

William nodded, though Godric doubted he understood. His eyes were still slightly glazed, and he needed Godric's help to stand.  

"I'm fine," he protested. Godric let go of his friend's arm gently as William teetered on the brink of falling.  Then he kept still. "See? I'm fine."

"What are we going to do now?" asked Godric. The sun had already sunk below the horizon and it was dark in the forest, silent save for the occasional rustle and hoot of owls.

"Let's split up," said William, massaging his temples. "I'm going to go back to the village and markets and find my wife and son. You go to Nædrehus."

"Nædrehus? You want me to go there? Why?" Godric obviously wanted to go anywhere _but_ Nædrehus."

"Well we can't just go back to the village together. We need someone to go see what the other wizards are up to. They can't just be left alone."

"Aren't there any others you recruited for this so-called mission?"

"Well, of course there are, but you're the only one here, aren't you? Now, head toward Nædrehus, and I'll go back to the village. I'll come up there myself later, don't worry."  

William turned and began walking toward the village where smoke rose from the little valley.  Godric watched as he went, then finally turned around and headed in the direction where the woman had gone.

Godric had never been to Nædrehus, and to be honest with himself, he didn't want to go.  The wizards there were different, wealthy and pretentious.  Then again, it wasn't that Godric did not like them.  He just felt that he never really fitted in.  His life was on the moors, walking from place to place, not in castles among the rich.

Yet, as he neared the stone castle, he felt himself wondering what it would be like to live there.  Would be grand and important? Or would he miss the wildness of nature? Not that he loved the wildness of nature.  Storms were never that fun if you lived in a dank cottage with only a small fire to help.

Approaching the castle, he found himself wishing for a wand. He had never had one and he had never really needed one, but all the same it would have made him feel safer.

Godric went up through the archways and found his path inside blocked by two guards.  They moved aside, letting him pass. His new hat was a giveaway for magical bloodline. But when he really thought about, anyone could just pick up a hat and waltz in. Then again, the non-magicals probably wouldn't dare go too near anything made by wizarding hands.

There were various wizards milling about the great hall, dimly lit in the eerie candlelight.  Many of them seemed to be moving in a general direction, so Godric followed.  He walked slowly, taking in the high ceilings and dark décor.  Splashes of colours would decorate the hall here and there, but everything had been dulled by the night.  It was warm inside, thanks to magic, but Godric wasn't so sure he would want to live here.  There was much room, yet he felt so closed in.

He began to become distracted by all the riches that lay out before him in the hall, and he soon found himself wandering away from the crowd. He noticed the hall had become quiet, empty of people except for him. Almost empty.

"Are you lost?"

Godric turned quickly to face a woman slightly older than him, wearing robes of white. She was accompanied by a tall wizard who looked very much like he was in a hurry.

"It's a large castle," she continued on breezily, "too large to care for."

"That it is," agreed Godric. "I was just following the rest of them, and I seem to have lost my way."

"Go back that way," said the tall wizard, "and turn left. You should be able to find your way from there."

"Now, David, that's not the proper way to treat guests," scolded the witch.  David rolled his eyes.

"I am Aline," she introduced herself.  She held out a hand, which Godric bent to kiss. "This is David. We are cousins of the Slytherin household. And you are?"

"Godric," he replied clumsily. For good measure, he decided to add, "Of the Gryffindor family."

Aline began to walk to where David had pointed.  "We'll show you the way back; we're headed in that direction ourselves."

"You're going to the feast then?" asked Godric, as he and David followed.

"Later." She hesitated. "We have other matters to attend to first."

Aline led them back to the main hall.  Godric watched her straight brown hair swayed from side to side while he walked behind her. She was polite, yet so cold.  Her voice was different than the ones held by the village girls.  It dripped with disdain, yet care.  She was a strange one.

"Perhaps we'll see you later at the feast," said Aline.

Godric nodded.

"Goodbye then," said David, and began to quickly walk in the opposite direction, grabbing Aline's arm and taking her with him.  Godric watched as she shook his hand off her arm and frowned at him, regaining her composure and leading the way once more.

The witches and wizards headed toward a large set of doors where sounds of music and merrymaking drifted into the hall.  Trying to look discreet, Godric passed the doors and entered the party.

Wizards and witches, dressed in all sorts of colours, danced and mingled amongst themselves.  Godric overheard snatches of conversations as he slowly and hesitantly walked through the crowd.

"…Was simply horrid.  I couldn't see a thing through all the smoke…"

"Fantastic. Non-magicals running everywhere, and –"

"Enchanted to finally meet your acquaintance…"

"…Leave the young ones to talk…"

He casually picked an apple off one of the long tables and bit into it as he watched the others talk with one another.  Feeling a little bit out of the loop, he tried to make himself as little noticed as possible.

"Hello?"

Godric whirled around to find himself being faced by two young women.

"You don't seem familiar," said the first one, walking behind him as the other moved closer. "Are you from around here?"

"I'm from down in the village, actually," he began, turning slowly as the girls circled him like vultures.  This was the last thing he need now.

"The village? The one we raided?" The girls laughed, and Godric couldn't help but think it was directed at him.  It might have been. 

"Yes, that one," he replied coldly, wishing they would go away.   They giggled as Godric searched for a way out.

That was when he saw her. 

She stood in the opposite corner of the room, as dancers passed back and forth so she disappeared from his sight in flashes.

"Excuse me," Godric mumbled to the girls as they frowned at him. Losing interest quickly, they went to find a new victim.  Godric set the unfinished apple on the table and stepped forward slowly.

She was dancing now, with another man. With a start of realization, Godric saw that it was the grey-eyed man. The sandy hair, the splash of freckles – Godric had always seen them as grey, but no matter what colour, he would have known it was the man anywhere. There they were: two of his dreams come to living flesh. And where was the third?

The man grinned cheekily at the woman, who blushed lightly and ducked her head. He led her near the middle of the room, lightly put a hand on the small of her back and drew her into the dancing fray. 

She wore robes of pale yellow over a white dress, and looked like an unearthly being. Her dark hair flowed as she stepped in time with the man, switching partners and going back and forth, but always, always keeping her eye on the same person.

The man himself was dressed in a green cloak, and Godric could tell they were of rich descent.  He felt more out of place than ever now, feeling the weight of his poor clothing and the random hat that he was thrown.  

Godric didn't want to watch them anymore.  His dreams weren't supposed to collide with life.  His visions had never become real.  And the woman was supposed to love _him_, not this other man who so often became a nightmare.

Steeped in depression, Godric made his way to a table and sat down heavily on the wooden bench.  There, he found spare mugs set on the tabletop, and thankfully filled one of them with ale from a barrel set on the ground.  He gulped it down almost as fast as the dancers were laughing and twirling around him.

He sat with his back facing the crowd, not wanting to catch another glimpse of the couple.

…

_"I can't find you," he called.  His voice bounced off the eerie darkness and echoed in the silence._

_"It's alright," she whispered. "I'm here. I'm waiting. I'll see you soon."_

_"The others are here," he told her. _

_"Just wait a little longer. I'm coming soon."_

…

"Taking a break from the feast, are we?"

Godric lifted his head from the table, where he found he had dropped into his dreams again.  His blinked as his eyes readjusted to the light created by candles and fires.  Looking up, he found himself staring into a pair of grey eyes.

"Mind if we join you?"  The man grinned and swung a leg over one of the benches to sit down.  "I think Helga's getting a bit tired out."

So the angel did have a name after all.

"Helga," said Godric, trying out the name as he nodded slightly to her.

The woman dipped her head lightly and looked at him, searching his face. 

"I'm Salazar," said the man, introducing himself.  "I live here, actually. I'm from the Slytherin family.  Helga's from the North, the Hufflepuff Clan. And you are?"

Still reeling from the sheer impossibility of sitting with his living dreams, he replied in a faint voice. "Godric. I'm from the Gryffindor family."

"Gryffindor?" Salazar frowned. "I've never heard of them. Whereabouts are you from?"

"Oh… Just around here." 

Salazar shrugged.  "Helga, sit down. Wouldn't you like some rest?"

"Maybe just a little bit."  Her soft voice spoke in an articulate manner, and she seemed so stiff. She sat by Salazar, pulling her yellow robes around her tighter.

"Most of the people aren't young like we are," continued Salazar, taking the head of the conversation easily.  "And some of those who are just want to have a good time."

Godric thought about the two giggling girls he had come across, and found himself nodding at Salazar's comment.

"You looked to be a decent man," sighed Salazar. "And we were in need of some young blood. Who wants to dance and chat idly among those of our parents' friends?"

Neither Helga nor Godric answered.  Salazar shrugged and grabbed two mugs off the table. Filling them with ale, he handed one to Helga and kept one for himself.

Godric found himself sneaking glances over to Helga, who sat on the other side of Salazar.  The two of them didn't seem too close, but he still felt something between them.  

Helga turned her head, and caught Godric as he stared at her.  She smiled faintly, then turned back toward the crowd.  Salazar bent his head closer to hers and pointed to some people in the fray, whispering little comments to her.

Following Salazar's line of sight, Godric found himself looking at two older wizards, much older than he was.  Looking closely, he could see traces and semblances of Helga and Salazar in the two men. They must have been their fathers.

Looking back to the man and woman by his side, he realized they were laughing and joking quietly together, excluding him from whatever it was that they found so funny. He tried to look like he fit in, but felt so out of place.

Godric sat quietly, resting his back against the hard wooden table, keeping his thoughts to himself.

_It was never supposed to be like this._

~ * ~

I'm finished the four beginning chapters! Alright, now we can get into action. SoG5 is in the works, and you have no idea how good it feels to be saying that. I was a little discouraged at writing a prologue that spanned four chapters, but I did it, and feel great about it now. Thanks for sticking with me this far, and I hope you enjoy what's to come. As always, drop a review if you liked it, or didn't like it. 

Thanks to my betas for this round: Historical!Fearthainn, Fantastic!Bree, Critical!Michael and Superb!Aisy.  You guys rock. Also, thanks Soz, for the inspiration.  Your RR truly is a masterpiece. And Hayley… we'll miss you. J And also, Gromit, you rock! (Your reviews make my day and take as long as you want to read this story.)

Come join Atlantis, where the cool people hang out, and where Shades of Grey can also be found. 

(Not sure if the HTML linkage is working here, so if you want to review at Fiction Alley, go here:

http://fictionalley.org/schnoogle/reviews/showthread.php?s=&threadid=1565 

If you want to check out Atlantis, go here: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Atlantis/

See you around. J)


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